


Acephaly

by mscyanide



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:21:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mscyanide/pseuds/mscyanide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follows on from the season five final.  I didn't particularly enjoy season five and this is my fix which I wrote a few years ago now.</p><p>This story contains some dialogue lifted from the LFN series and one line stolen from the movie "Point of No Return."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ploughing through the hanging layers of darkness Nikita fought her way back to a state of consciousness. The first sensation that greeted her waking mind was the clenching of her abdominal muscles, followed by the contraction of her oesophagus as the bitter acid began its upward journey. As the bile rose in her throat her mind exerted its limited control, forcing the foul liquid back to the depths of her heaving stomach. With her eyes closed tightly, Nikita breathed deeply, focusing on each breath - imagining the oxygen entering her lungs, expelling the carbon dioxide. After several minutes the nausea dissipated to a more controllable level.

As her breathing slowed Nikita became more aware of other sensations. The floor beneath her was cold, the clothes on her body damp, and her mouth dry. With an effort that seemed almost mammoth in proportions she lifted her torpid head and opened her eyes. She soon discovered that, with her lids open or closed, the darkness was complete.

Her sluggish limbs fought her; she attempted to stand and collided with a solid metal object - a wall. Breathing heavily, to keep the resurrected nausea at bay, she leaned against the wall - waiting for her limbs to start working. For a while Nikita didn't move, couldn't move; she leaned against the wall attempting to focus her foggy mind. As she stood there some part of her brain bleated a warning:  _I've been drugged._

Having been drugged before - on more than a few occasions - it was easy enough to recognize the residual effects. Nikita's mind struggled to assess the situation: she had been drugged, was being held in a cold dark room, and knew nothing of the people who held her.

 _'How the hell did this happen?'_  She couldn't quite believe it; this wasn't supposed to happen.  _'When I was an operative: Sure. But I'm Operations now, this can't be happening.'_  Yet, even as Nikita thought it, she recognized the futility of denial. It didn't matter that it shouldn't happen, because it  **had**  happened.

A stab of ice-cold fear replaced the disbelief and her stomach heaved for a very different reason. Fear motivated Nikita into action; she moved from her perch against the wall and with her hands searching the way, she proceeded to map out her prison. Her fingers glided over the wall, finding little to comfort her - besides a few strategically placed hooks on the walls there was nothing in the room.

Alone in the darkness she felt an odd compulsion to talk to someone - she was about to yell out when she remembered her training. Nikita had just displayed classic behavior for a kidnap victim: denial, frozen fright, compulsion to talk. That wasn't comforting either.

******

Nikita was no longer nauseous, she was, however, extremely cold and hungry. She didn't know exactly how long she had been sitting in the dark, but judging by her growling stomach - it was at least twelve hours. She had determined that after her earlier lapse she would show no weakness, and so in twelve odd hours she hadn't moved. Nikita's body was protesting the rough treatment but the physical discomfort was easy to ignore. What was more difficult to put aside was her captor's decision to **ignore**  her.

It was troubling that they hadn't begun their interrogation; it denoted a certain arrogance that Nikita found frightening. They were acting as though they had all the time in the world.  _What if they did?_  It was a horrifying thought. Did they not know who she was? Or was she alone in the dark because they did know? Somehow she doubted an enemy that was skilful enough to capture her would be ignorant of whom they held. So they knew who she was; what else did they know?  _Probably too much._

But what did it matter? It didn't. Nikita closed her eyes against the darkness, no longer interested in her surroundings.

 _"Exogenous depression."_  The voice seemed to rise out of the darkness - it was oddly familiar.

"Madeline?" A second too late Nikita realized her mistake - no one was there, the voice a memory.

She bit down on the desire to curse out loud. Her eyes snapped open and she carefully unwound her numb body, stretching her deadened muscles as she fought her growing anger.

How stupid was she?  _It was an obvious trap. I should have known, just when Section was stretched to the limit, a new terrorist organization materializes out of thin air and needs to be dealt with quickly. Being understaffed, I myself decide to lead the mission and voila! Captured._

Her internal rant was interrupted by the sound of a door opening. Nikita found herself blinded by a light that made her eyes continuously blink. It was for that reason she never saw the kick coming - it hit her midsection forcing the air from her lungs. She attempted to roll away from the continuing blows, but having sat in the same position for hours, her limbs failed her. As the mysterious captor beat her to within an inch of consciousness, she wondered why she had ever thought being ignored was a bad thing. Then as quickly as it began - it stopped - her captor retreated and the darkness returned. Nikita gave herself over to the blinding pain that coursed through her body with every breath; she faded into unconsciousness.

******

Her body ached with each movement, but she kept her face expressionless; she limped around her cell awaiting the next visit. Nikita had been their guest for well over two weeks and her captors had alternately abused or ignored her - she was uncertain which she preferred. They had never spoken to her - never asked a question - Nikita wondered if that was because she had already told them everything they wanted to know. She had no idea how long they had held her before she awoke in the darkness - it could have been months. If they had held her for so long, they could know everything. Guilt closed in; what could she have given them? Whom could she have compromised? Whom could she have put at risk? What damage could she have done? Too much, too many, too many, too much.

The beatings and her own revolving questions had prevented her from getting much sleep; she slept only an hour or two at a time, and when she awoke, she never felt rested. She had lost her appetite and was constipated, but she was determined to fight off further victimization, though she believed it was likely to prove a losing battle. They had not beaten her for a long time - she was certain they would soon return.

As more time passed she became less certain and more tired. Moving to the wall furthest from the door, she settled her battered body down and closed her eyes. No sooner had she closed them than the door opened. With renewed strength she jumped to her feet, ready to fight her way out, unfortunately, her attacker was more than ready.

She felt a sharp prick in her neck. Reaching up, she felt the protruding dart and pulled it out - too late. Her body began to weigh her down and even as she tried to cling to consciousness, she felt it slip from her fingers.

******

Through her closed lids, her light deprived eyes were burning. Nikita felt the light searing its way through her eyes, embedding its white-hot talons in the soft tissue of her brain. She kept her eyes tightly closed and tried to raise her arm to shield them, but found it firmly restrained.

With the resulting pain throbbing through her brain, she lost all sense of time. Eventually, the pain faded and her eyes began to adjust. When they did, she opened them a crack and after blinking owlishly for a few minutes, took note of her new surroundings.

Everywhere she looked, she saw grey: the walls, the ceiling and the floor - all were the same - even the chair she was strapped into was the same monotonous color. It reminded her of the white room and she wondered if that was the intent.

The door before her opened; the once painful light above her barely penetrated the dense blackness. Though she strained, she could discern nothing in the dark shadow, but she felt eyes raking her form. After staring into the blackness for a few minutes, she refocused her attention to the restraint on her left arm - waiting patiently for the inquisitor to show him or herself. It was a long wait.

Eventually, Nikita heard the scrape of a heeled shoe as it came in contact with the metal floor. Her head snapped up and her eyes focused on the moving shadow as it stepped towards her from the darkness. The shadow took shape as a sleek figure cut itself from the black cloth, entering the light.

Nikita found herself staring into the clear green eyes of a twenty-something female, whose straight dark brown hair fell to her shoulders and shone in the light from the ceiling. The woman wore a fashionable black skirt suit, but no visible jewelry, not even a watch. She would have been tall without the excessively high heels that made her towering. Nikita wondered how she managed to walk in such things - they certainly didn't look comfortable.

"To inflict great suffering, one must know great suffering."

A small smile played on the full lips of the woman, but it didn't reach her eyes - not that Nikita was surprised. The voice on the other hand was a surprise; it was almost musical in nature. Low and soothing, it was the type of voice you might expect a mother to use whilst attempting to calm a small child, that, or the voice of a lover whispering sweet nothings in your ear. It was almost luscious.

The nature of the sentence, however, wasn't soothing, and staring into the woman's eyes Nikita was far from amused. The woman's eyes were hollow; there was no emotion within them, they reflected nothing. Nikita felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck but kept her face expressionless.

"Welcome. I trust that you have found our service up to your standards?" The smile remained, the eyes unchanged.

Nikita fought the urge to shudder.

"Do you have any questions before we begin?" The pause was brief. "I didn't think so." As if by magic, two men appeared from behind the brunette, they pushed a sheet-covered table, positioning it within easy reach of the woman, then took positions on either side. Nikita decided to name them One and Two. One was very tall with black hair, olive skin and deep grey eyes, built like a Greek God. Two was perhaps two inches shorter with blonde hair, bronzed skin and blue eyes, and built more like a wrestler. Though both were intimidating creatures, it was the woman between them that Nikita's eyes gravitated towards.

"Your name is Nikita, you were formerly a Center mole and are now in charge of Section One. The previous Operations died in an attempt to save the child of your lover. In exchange for the boy's life, your father, who at the time headed Center, turned himself over to the Collective and was executed. Stop me if I make a mistake."

Nikita's mind was reeling, how much did they know? Had she told them? What did they want?

"Before he turned himself over he elicited a promise from you, which lead to your taking the position of Operations. You are unhappy in the job and woefully under-qualified for the position."

Nikita's teeth ground against each other in reaction to the last statement.

"And in case you're wondering, you may call me Janet."

"I wasn't." Staring into those hollow green eyes, Nikita was surprised when she detected a glimpse of the amusement Janet felt as Nikita broke her silence. It was gone in a flash, but Nikita was certain it had been there.

"Are you familiar with the principles of torture, Nikita?"

The silence stretched between them and Nikita found herself uncomfortable under the younger woman's blank gaze, it reminded her too much of another pair of green eyes. She was tempted to close her eyes or give in, but either response would be seen as weakening.

"The slightest sign of giving in shall doom thee. It can be as simple as blinking, or grinding one's teeth." She let the sentence hang between them before continuing. "Under threat of pain, people will tell you whatever they believe you want to hear, it's critical that the questioner be able to distinguish between someone playing a role, and one who has accepted the reality of their situation. That is where your Madeline excelled. Such a brilliant strategist, the most formidable of foes; such a shame for the 'good guys' your father never recognized her worth." Janet moved towards the table, and as she reached it One and Two pulled back the sheet, displaying the instruments beneath.

Nikita watched Janet's delicate hands as they roamed the table fingering a variety of ghastly looking objects.

"Torture is an art form where few excel. Compared to the methods used by Section, mine are quite archaic, but I have always had a fondness for the old ways. The instruments have such a timeless beauty." Janet's hands hovered over an object for a moment before her left hand folded itself around it; she turned back towards Nikita displaying the metal object. "For instance, this instrument. The Pear."

The resemblance to a pear was vague at best, it reminded Nikita more of a vibrator, though it was rather intricately engraved and had what looked like a handle at one end.

Janet displayed the piece for a few moments before continuing. "This device was inserted orally, anally or vaginally."

With a quick movement of Janet's hands, 'the pear' expanded outwards and Nikita felt her internal muscles clench.

"When expanded it ruptures sensitive membranes and tissues, causing a great deal of damage inside the body cavity. It's quite painful." Janet turned slowly, returning the instrument to the table and then allowing her fingers to caress the metal briefly before selecting another.

Janet held within her hands a leather whip with multiple metal tipped tails; she moved forward holding the whip a few inches from Nikita's face. "This archaic device is called the 'cat o'nine tails,' rather vicious looking." With one quick flick of Janet's wrist the metal tipped tails slashed through Nikita's pants and into her right thigh. The resulting pain wasn't great, but an uncomfortable burning sensation lingered as Janet returned the whip to its place on the table. When she turned back towards her, Nikita was surprised to discover she was empty handed.

"The most effective weapon in any 'interrogator's' arsenal is knowledge."

Nikita watched as the other woman approached her, stopping within half a meter.

"Do you happen to know which of your fingers is the most sensitive?"

Nikita couldn't prevent her confusion from showing in her eyes. Janet's dead eyes held hers for a moment before she reached out and grabbed Nikita's index finger, with one swift movement she bent the finger back, breaking it with a sickening crack.

"That was one of your proximal phalanges."

Nikita's finger throbbed but the pain was manageable - her mask intact. Janet returned to the table; retrieved a bottle and an eyedropper, then took position in front of Nikita. Drawing some of the colorless liquid into the dropper, the dark haired woman then held it above Nikita's damaged hand. When the liquid connected with her skin the air was expelled from her lungs with one short scream.

"Hydrochloric Acid might not have been the right choice to get your mind off that phalange."

The eyedropper was returned to the bottle, and Nikita breathed a sigh of relief. Janet retreated and One stepped forward, throwing a powdered substance on Nikita's melting hand - after causing intense pain it neutralized the acid.

When Nikita regained control, Janet was once more in front of her, smile firmly in place, eyes as empty as before. Within her hands she held a stout wooden pole - the length of a pogo stick, about a hand in width. "This is a ghotna. It comes from India and has but two uses. The first - and more common - is for the grinding of corn or spices; the second is for the grinding of a person's will. As a device of torture it is used one of three ways: either it is placed behind a person's knees and then they are forcibly bent over it; placed between the thighs and then the person's legs are tied tightly together; or rolled up and down the thighs with two people standing on top of it. They are all painful, but the last is excruciating and causes irreparable damage to muscles; whereas with a little attention your hand will be fully functional."

_Not an old-fashioned pogo stick then._

Nikita looked deeply into the emotionless green eyes, feeling her hatred of the younger woman swelling within her. "I'm not telling you anything."

Janet's smile brightened briefly. "Did I ask you a question?"

The ghotna returned to the table and a truncheon took its place in Janet's hands. The dark haired woman stood for a moment, unmoving, before wielding the weapon against Nikita's ribs - pain followed in its wake. Nikita tried to relax her body and detach herself from the pain as the blows continued - each stroke of the truncheon agony. Nikita's body tensed, and pain shot through her as the truncheon found the whipped flesh of her upper thigh.

Her eyes tightly shut and her teeth grinding against one another, she endured the powerful blows in determined silence. Drowning in the sound of her heartbeat, she breathed deeply, keeping her eyes shut even after the blows stopped.

A few minutes untouched and she opened her eyes to discover Janet gone, One and Two's backs facing her. Two turned towards her and approached holding a number of leather thongs; he stood close but did not touch her. One soon joined them holding a scalpel; he pulled at the front of her shirt and cut his way down neatly, separating the halves, exposing her battered flesh. He then walked back to the table, returning the scalpel, before coming back and collecting a thong from Two.

One after the other, he firmly secured each thong around her midsection; while One secured the last, Two moved out of Nikita's field of vision. She heard Two grunt as if lifting a heavy object and listened as his footfalls brought him closer.

One had finished securing the thong by the time Two came back into her line of sight. Two carried a large container filled with what appeared to be water. He moved to her side, lifted the container above his head and deposited its contents on her.

It was just water, but when it came in contact with the leather thongs, they soon began to shrink - constricting her and her broken ribs. Nikita found herself screaming, her voice deafening in the enclosed space. She noticed Two had returned to his place just before she lost consciousness.

******

Nikita was welcomed back to consciousness with a stinging slap. Her eyes snapped open to find Janet back in position and the leather thongs gone, along with most of her clothes.

"It's really not that bad. Five ribs, the phalange, your left radius, right patella, a little torn flesh, some burns and bruising, hardly enough to warrant fainting. You really should work on your control."

With some effort Nikita managed to lift her head enough to look Janet in the eye. "Screw you."

The dark haired woman didn't even blink. "That isn't very ladylike language, perhaps you need adjustment."

With a movement of her arm, Janet drew Nikita's attention to the 'black box' beside her. Then she stepped back as Two came forward, attaching electrodes to Nikita's fingertips and ear lobes. He then took position by the machine. Janet smiled briefly, then turned on her heel and left while Two began his manipulations and Nikita resumed screaming. After what felt like hours, Janet returned and Two removed the electrodes from Nikita's quivering body.

"Did you know that a result of electroshock therapy is amnesia? When the patients' memories start to return they often provide useful information. If we were to shock you into amnesia, you'd no doubt inform us of your unfortunate childhood, your alcoholic/drug addict/whore of a mother, the time you spent on the streets. You'd stop when you remembered Section, but you'd have provided us with more than enough information to break you."

Nikita tried to spit in Janet's direction, but ended up just drooling.

"Of course, that is at a higher setting and focused in a different area."

Nikita closed her eyes and imagined Michael's beautiful green eyes in an effort to calm herself; a faint smile touched her lips but was soon wiped away.

"He's not coming. He's quite happy living his life with his son; he doesn't need you."

Nikita felt something tightening around her arm and opened her weary eyes to see a tourniquet in place and Janet drawing a syringe from an ampoule; the younger woman taped its side and expelled any air with the smallest depression of her thumb.

"Whhattareeyougivingme?" Even to herself her voice sounded slurred.

Having found a vein, Janet slid the needle in and slowly expelled the syringe's contents into Nikita's blood stream.

"Whaaat did yooo geeve me?"

"Heroin. It will kill the pain but shouldn't interfere with muscle control, sensation or intellect. Not like that's a concern of yours. You may feel a little nauseous."

For a while Nikita felt nothing, but as her blood vessels widened, she began to feel warmth spreading throughout her body. The pain, which had been almost unbearable, diminished as she became more detached.

Someone removed her bonds - she did not fight them. As they dragged her back to her cell she began to feel drowsy; an odd feeling of contentment consumed her. Nausea struck and she found herself vomiting, but didn't really care. She was dragged the rest of the way back to the dark cell, wrapped in a blanket and placed on her side - she fell asleep.

******

When Nikita awoke she found herself back in the grey room and Janet was drawing another syringe. Before she could object, she felt the needle pierce her skin; Janet ejected its contents and passed the syringe to Two, who stood to her right.

"No heroin this time. Atropine. It's time we talked."

"I won't give you anything." Nikita almost spat the words at the younger woman.

"I know."

Nikita allowed her head to rest on her chest, becoming more indignant, but unable to find enough energy to do anything else. "Then what's the point?"

"Does there have to be one?"

"Why the torture if you knew there was no point?"

"Because I can? How about, because I'm a terrorist?"

"Killing me won't change anything - Section will survive."

"You're quite right, which is why you're not going to die."

The revelation energized her; Nikita's head snapped up and she locked on to the empty green eyes, hoping for another glimpse of what lay beneath.

"You can't break me." She wasn't sure at first if she had said the words out loud, but even if she hadn't, they were written in her eyes.

"Actually I can - all it takes is time." Janet smiled almost kindly before she continued. "Lucky for you, my time is much too valuable to waste on extracting useless information."

Nikita was dumbfounded. "Useless?"

"Yes, I know everything I need to."

"I don't understand."

"Don't you ever get sick of saying that?"

Nikita allowed her anger to flow un-hindered. "Section is going to hunt you down and kill you." Nikita's eyes blazed, but Janet was unaffected; her smile actually widening as a brief laugh flitted from her throat.

"Oh please, they couldn't even find you and you're tagged - in what fantasy realm will they catch me?"

"If you let me go, I will find you."

Janet's voice was almost a whisper when she replied, "No, you won't, at least not until I want you to. Now, I've arranged for Section to 'rescue' you in little under two hours. I'll be leaving shortly. Is there anything I can get you first?"

"A gun."  _So I can shoot you._

"You can have one if you like, but it might be detrimental to your health when Section arrives and finds their hapless leader armed. Sure you want it?"

Nikita looked away.

"I didn't think so."

Nikita met Janet's eyes again. "I will kill you."

Janet's expression didn't alter. "More empty threats, Nikita?"

"A promise."

"Whatever. Now, I really must be going. Have a great life." Janet turned her back and began to exit - Nikita's voice stopped her.

"I know you won't let me go."

Janet turned back to face Nikita. "Now why would you say that?"

"I'm too valuable, I know too much - without me Section is vulnerable." Nikita watched as Janet's eyes widened, clearly displaying her astonishment.

"You actually believe that don't you? I am releasing you, Nikita."

"I don't believe you."

Janet's laugh filled the room. "You don't need to believe me - wait the two hours."

Nikita's voice took on a whining tone. "You can't afford to let me go."

"I can't afford not to."

"I don't understand."

"Can't you at least pretend you're in possession of a brain cell?" Janet sighed wearily. "Never mind - I'll explain. If I kill you, Section replaces you."

"And?" Nikita prodded.

"That isn't in my best interest."

"And my controlling Section is?" Now Nikita really was lost - how could her continued control of Section possibly help the bad guys?

"And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free." Janet's voice was low and soft, making the quote seem more like a chant.

"I don't believe it." That earned Nikita a real smile and she was surprised to note how warm it was.

"I know the feeling. A lot of things have happened in the last couple of years that instilled disbelief."

"Such as?"

"Mister Jones provokes Madeline, the chief strategist and brains of Section to commit suicide - then orders the cancellation of Michael Samuelle, Section's best operative. Hard to believe? It gets better. Thanks to your father's manipulation, and disregard for his life following his partner's untimely end 'Operations' is murdered by the Collective, thereby making Section not only brainless, but heartless as well. Then - in a moment of sheer lunacy - Mister Jones hands himself over to the Collective and arranges for you to run Section One. Unbelievable? I certainly thought so, and I had all the information. I knew that what I had heard was the truth, and yet...I couldn't bring myself to believe it. Do you know why, Nikita?"

Nikita gave a pained - but indifferent - shrug in response.

"Because despite everything I knew, I couldn't accept that my enemy was that stupid. Madeline and Paul were Section; it didn't make sense to kill them, certainly not to replace them with you. Unless you were better. That was rather unbelievable too, though certainly more probable than the head of Center being so delusional as to kill off his best operatives. And why? So he could satisfy a bizarre need to place his daughter in a position of power?" Janet shook her head, laughing lightly. "I brought you here so that I could see the truth for myself, and in seeing it - I realize my mistake. I gave your father entirely too much credit - he was truly insane. I see you for what you are Nikita; the best chance to destroy Section."

"You're a liar!"

"I am many things, but that doesn't change the truth."

"And what truth is that?"

"Section survived Bauer, Suba, Kessler, Philo, Enquist, Vacek, Chernov, Red Cell, Glass Curtain, Black March, the Freedom League, the Cardinal, Brutus - even the Collective couldn't destroy it. It survived Petrosian's insurrection, Adrian's revenge, George's treason, your father's lunacy, Madeline's suicide and Paul's murder. It survived all that, but Section won't survive you. Goodbye, Nikita."

Janet disappeared into the darkness beyond the door, leaving Nikita to consider her words. One and Two had, sometime during their discussion, packed everything up and left.

After about half an hour, a guard she had never seen before entered the room and untied her bonds. He led her back to her cell and locked it behind her. She did not resist, she didn't even think of resisting. Her mind was in turmoil.

_"Section won't survive you."_

_What if it's true? No, I'm saving Section; I'm making it better, returning it to what it was meant to be. That wouldn't cause its destruction._  Voices from the past came back to haunt her.

_"How can you be so ruthless?"_

_"Because the other side is ruthless. If we're not stronger, then they win and we lose."_

_It's not true. It's not true. It's not true._  "It's not true. It's not true!  **IT'S NOT TRUE!!** "

No matter how loudly she screamed the words - she was unable to banish the doubt that had taken root within her soul.

Section arrived within the hour.

************

Nikita wasn't certain if the pain was real or imagined, but it was relentless. Running her thumb along the unnaturally smooth surface of her scarred hand, she attempted to block it out - with little success.

Section's doctors had informed her that the hand was perfectly functional, but there were times when the pain was so excruciating it felt as though pieces of glass were boring into her bones. Now was not such a time - the pain merely a dull ache, uncomfortable but by no means debilitating.

She stood in the Perch, looking down upon Section while contemplating her obsession.

_Janet._

It had been over two years since they "met" and Nikita still hated the woman with the intensity of a thousand suns. She had never hated anyone so much in her life; had never felt the desire to drown in someone's blood, but she felt it now - God help Janet if she found her.

And she  **would**  find her.

Nikita paced the well-trod boards of the Perch while she awaited Quinn's progress report. In the beginning of her tenure as Operations, she had had a chair brought into this office - following her capture she found she couldn't sit in it. She now preferred to stand, finding the comfort of a chair stifling not just to herself, but also to the general productivity of the whole of Section One.

In the last two years she had come a long way - at the time she was captured, Section One's success rate was a pitiful 31%; 66 teams had been reduced to 32 and not because of budgetary restraints. They had been on the brink of extinction. Not any more.

Her time in captivity had made a difference and one - she was sure - her captor had not intended. She had, at first, doubted her abilities and so had reviewed each and every one of her decisions, hoping to find within them some justification of herself. She had not been successful. She had found herself lacking, her decisions in some instances foolish. Though in many cases the fault was not hers, but the result of faulty information, still she could not completely exonerate herself. She had never felt so defeated nor been so depressed.

If not for her burning hatred of Janet she might have given up then and there. Her hatred empowered her; it gave her the strength and resolve she needed. With it, she became the leader Section One was sorely missing. She re-established order and though some decisions were against her moral code, she did not hesitate to make them.

As a direct result, Section's success rate was up to 63% and her 44 teams had a reasonable chance of surviving. If she ever found a suitable Second-In-Command that percentage would rise, perhaps one day even surpassing that of Paul and Madeline. She smiled at the thought.

Of course none of that mattered in the great scheme of things. Two years on and Janet and her assistants still eluded her. Section's technicians had managed to retrieve Two's fingerprints from the water container, they had her detailed descriptions of the three, and yet they could not find them - she could not find them.

There were times when she knew she was close, when she could sense Janet's hand in something. But for all Section's technology and know-how, they could never provide enough material to prove it - and Oversight wasn't about to fund the type of operation needed to bring Janet down without proof. The problem with Oversight was that they didn't understand the very real threat Janet and her people represented - they couldn't see it and wouldn't allow her to pursue the woman until they did.

There was no one in the world more dangerous than Janet. This woman had captured Operations; she had knowledge of Section's organization, history, and systems. Janet was dangerous - it was obvious! So why didn't anyone else see it?

Nikita stopped mid-stride when she heard a throat clear. She turned to find Quinn standing at the threshold with a PDA in one hand, wearing the slightly arrogant expression that was her annoying norm. Nikita didn't like the woman - Kate Quinn was a snake.

"Is that the progress report?" she asked curtly.

"Actually no, a Center operative just dropped this off. It's for your eyes only." Quinn held out the PDA.

Nikita took it and dismissed her, wondering if Quinn hadn't read it first - she wouldn't put it past her.

It was unusual to receive a message from Center in this manner, especially as she had received no notification of its impending arrival - it was intriguing.

She opened the only file contained on the PDA and found a jumbled mess of numbers and symbols. Slotting the PDA into her terminal she opened the file again, waited a few moments for the decryption process to complete and then began to read.

Five sentences were all it took for her to blacken the Perch and wish she hadn't removed that chair. She felt cold, as though her blood had turned to ice.

_This can't be right!_

She read it again, and then once more - it made no difference.

Strangely it was the fifth sentence she latched on to.

_No evidence has been recovered._

There were three things she was sure of.

None ever would be.

Janet was involved.

And if she ever got the opportunity to destroy Janet, there was nothing she would not do, nothing she would not give and no one she would not sacrifice.

In Janet's case the end  **definitely**  justified the means.

******

Through a barely discernable mouth, he groaned in agony on the floor before her, no longer bound by shackles but by pain. Every visible inch of the man's body was a battered mess - a series of broken bones concealed only by bruised and bloated flesh - every breath a raspy torment.

Had she not monitored the process, Janet wouldn't have recognized the lump of quivering flesh as the vibrant young man brought in just a few weeks before. Janet supposed she should feel something for the shell of humanity lying in its own filth, but she did not.

There was a time when she would have pitied him, or at the very least been disgusted at her own participation in his destruction; but now - excepting a slight discomfort at having to inhale his foul stench - she felt nothing.

The man had been a wealth of information and had given his knowledge with minimum effort on their part. Unfortunately for him there was only one way to confirm his data; now he was no longer of any use to them.

Janet held her pistol firmly, bracing herself for the resulting recoil. She fired once - the bullet entered the man's brain behind his left ear - death as instant as it ever is. Not bothering to check his pulse - if he weren't dead, he soon would be - she left the room, confident it would soon be back in pristine condition.

She hadn't gone a meter before she heard someone calling her name. Recognizing the man's whining tone she continued without pause, forcing him to run in order to catch up.

"Janet. I've been looking for you," he managed to get out whilst breathing heavily. He wasn't what you'd call fit.

She didn't spare him a glance. "It appears you've found me." To her everlasting regret, he chose to ignore her caustic tone and continue.

"About the prisoner, I really think..."

She decided it best not to allow him to finish his sentence; they were entering dangerous territory. "I just put a bullet in his brain." Janet didn't need to look to know his chin was about to hit the floor.

"But, but, but..."

Noticing the tall well-defined frame of the dark-haired man heading towards her, Janet took the opportunity to get rid of the man beside her. "Always a pleasure to have these discussions, Richard, but you'll have to excuse me. Karl and I have business." She directed Richard's attention to the approaching man and then watched Richard turn a lovely shade of green.

Looking as though he was about to throw up, Richard nodded a little too enthusiastically before practically running in the opposite direction.

Turning her attention to Karl, Janet noted his slightly puzzled expression. "He wasn't feeling well."

Karl nodded as though that made sense. "Taken care of the prisoner?" He'd taken on his commanding tone.

"Of course," Janet meekly responded.

Aside from her team and a few select others, no one was aware of Janet's real role. It was her own decision, believing - quite rightly - that someone of her age and gender would not be respected in their world. In public, Janet played the role of the subservient - only in private did she dominate.

Karl took her arm and steered her back to their private quarters, all the while engaging her in insignificant conversation. Whilst pretending to find their conversation simulating, Janet paid careful attention to everyone they passed - searching for a glint of recognition.

Normally, Janet wouldn't have taken such a risk; she would have sent someone else - preferably someone who had never met her - but that hadn't been possible. So instead Janet had become a blonde and gained 10 pounds - much to her disgust - Karl declared it suited her, but she sincerely doubted it.

They finally reached their quarters and entered, Karl still maintaining his light grip as though she were his property. Taking a small device from his pocket, he activated it with a light touch and then nodded once.

"Richard should be online with Meyer." She smiled contemplating that conversation.

Karl nodded, now appearing slightly uneasy. "It might have been a mistake to kill the guy."

She dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand.

He nodded his understanding. "We need to move; it won't take long before they realize the information I gave them isn't accurate."

Janet really hated it when he stated the obvious. "Oh gee, I thought we'd stick around a little longer, do some sightseeing."

Karl shot her an evil glance.

She sighed. "We leave in an hour. Meyer will arrive shortly after - the team will be here no more than an hour after that."

He looked annoyed; she had no idea why.

"What about containment?" he asked in a tone that matched his expression.

"It's taken care of."

"Will Richard still be coming with us?" a whining quality entering his voice.

That explained the annoyed expression - Karl had taken an instant dislike to the portly little man.

"I believe Richard can be of use to us; it seems a shame to deny ourselves the chance to obtain such a valuable resource."

His expression didn't alter.

Janet found it disappointing - however unsurprising - that Karl should allow his personal opinion of the man to cloud his judgement in this manner. Granted, Richard was an annoying little toad, whose loyalty could be bought with the occasional screw and a bottle of whiskey a month; but the man was a financial wizard who knew where six separate organizations kept their funds. You didn't pass up such an opportunity because the person who provided it made you want to shoot yourself in the head to avoid another evening in his company.

No. You smiled, spread your legs and allowed him to screw you because that was what was required. Preference, comfort, and principles were meaningless; you did what you had to, in order to win.

It was all about the game.

He deactivated the shield then smirked knowingly. "We're packed already. What did you want to do with our hour?"

Men could be so tiresome. If he thought this was a way to punish her for deciding to take Richard with them, he didn't know her very well. She smiled sweetly, "I don't know - what did you have in mind?"

He closed the distance between them to bestow a violent kiss, his grey eyes sparkling. She allowed him to take control and responded in the manner everyone expected - like she gave a damn.

************

Curtis was out-numbered, outmaneuvered, and overruled. Despite all the evidence he had presented, the majority of the Oversight Committee had decided against his proposal, opting instead for mass suicide. Clearly they were all delusional.

Nikita running Section One made as much sense as the insane Mr. Jones running Center -  _oh wait, Mr. Jones had run Center and they'd supported him, too_. Sometimes Curtis wondered if he wasn't in the wrong profession; he was obviously too sane for this type of work.

Of the eight other members of the Oversight Committee, five had voted against his proposal to remove Nikita from the position of Operations. Two of those were certifiably insane, two were new - probably not secure enough in their positions to go against the deranged two, but there was no excuse for the fifth, who fell on the pathetic excuse that she deserved another chance.

_Regardless of the consequences._

Not for the first time, Curtis wondered how these people had managed to survive childhood.

_Their parents must have taken a prodigious amount of care of them. Probably kept them in bubbles so they couldn't grievously injure themselves. Shame really._

He was brought back from his musings by the gloating voice of crazy no. 1 - Gerald Masters.

"Right then, that's two in favor, five against and two abstentions. Motion is put-down. Was there any other business?"

_Where to be buried?_

"Section One still requires a Second-In-Command."

This came from one of the two abstentions and the only female member of the Committee - Sue.

Crazy no. 2 - Johnson was quick to agree. "Yes, yes. They've been without since that chap we appointed died. Damn shame that, showed a lot of promise."

_And he'd still be alive if Nikita wasn't so incompetent._

"Unlucky affair." Masters.

"We gave Nikita the opportunity to appoint a new Second, did we not?" Sue handled the crazies with the patience and ease of long practice.

"Yes, but she has yet to make a decision." Masters. Two heads nodding in unison.

"She's been taking her time." This was the other abstention - Cress.

"These things take time; very important decision." Johnson again.

"She's had over a year," Curtis couldn't resist injecting.

The two crazies glared in his direction before returning their attention to Sue.

"Curtis is correct," she said.

"It isn't any easy decision to make." Masters.

"It needs to be made." This from Cress.

Curtis got the distinct impression it was scripted.

"Things can not continue as they are," he just couldn't shut up.

"I agree; more importantly so does Center." Sue shot him a meaningful look.

Curtis understood it perfectly; he was to remain quiet for the duration.

"Our last appointment did not go well," Masters reminded everyone.

"We should give her six more months to decide and then, if she is still unable to recommend a candidate, we will need to decide for her," Cress responded in an even tone.

"Agreed?" Sue inquired - looking directly at Curtis.

Everyone nodded in agreement, including himself. Curtis personally doubted a Nikita run Section would last six months, but he could not so openly contradict Sue - disagreeing would have been suicidal.

******

There was no quicker way to advance than a high mortality rate, but surviving was the real achievement. Jasmine had managed to survive and was now a level four cold operative about to lead her team on their sixth successful mission in a row.

"Hey Troy," she greeted, entering Munitions.

He looked up from the gadget he was tinkering with, smiling uncertainly. "Hey Jasmine, you look uncomfortable."

Jasmine was dressed for the mission - in a body-hugging barely-there black dress, killer stiletto boots and a butchered Bambi coat. "I am. Got my stuff?"

"Right here," he pointed to a number of small items on a nearby table.

Jasmine retrieved the items, placing them in her purse before removing her coat so Troy could place the transmitters on her back.

"Now let's fit your communicator and get you out of here." He smiled brightly.

Jasmine didn't think she'd ever get used to him - she kept expecting Walter to appear with one of his patented leers. She missed him; she wasn't the only one.

"Has my team collected their equipment yet?"

"Everyone but Simon." He smiled with sympathy.

Jasmine resisted the urge to curse. Simon was a ten-year veteran; a good operative, reliable in the field but insubordinate off. She probably should have reported him but he never jeopardized a mission, was an inspiration to the other members of her team and was often responsible for their success.

Besides, he had his moments; his outlandish tales, depicting the many virtues of the gray-haired Nazi and his psychotic partner, were always amusing. His bizarre dream of returning Section One to the bad old days and tales of the old regime's "second coming" were so entertaining that his occasional acts of insubordination were almost worth putting up with.

_Almost._

"I'm sure he'll be along shortly." She managed to sound convinced.

Troy looked doubtful, but didn't comment.

She collected her coat and headed to van access swearing that if Simon was late this time she would, at the very least, issue an official warning. She arrived to find the rest of her team waiting and nodded a greeting to each.

There were five operatives in her team, Simon, Cassidy, Mitchell, Kevin and Lore. Cassidy - petite blonde, class two operative with two years experience - would be working the target this mission. Mitchell - a giant of a man with shaggy brown hair, class two, three years experience - would be on extraction with Simon. Kevin and Lore were the newest members of her team. Kevin had been with them three months - it was Lore's second mission. Kevin was their field tech; Lore would act as back up.

With ten seconds to spare, Simon wandered down the corridor and joined her at the door. The clock hit zero and when the door opened, he was the first into the van. He promptly sat and fell asleep. Cassidy and Mitchell sat on either side of him and spent most of the trip in animated conversation, pointedly ignoring Kevin and Lore who sat staring at their shoes.

Jasmine wasn't worried; though divided off the field, her team was efficient, focused and solid while on missions.

They got the job done.

_What does it matter if they don't get along?_

******

After almost five years in Section One, Kate Quinn was still running Comm. It wasn't where she thought she would be, but considering the current leadership, it was to be expected. Quinn knew she wouldn't even be running Comm. if Nikita ever managed to find a competent replacement; luck and some preemptive action had eliminated any chance of that.

Quinn had built herself a rather impressive power base despite - and in some cases because - of Nikita's dislike of her. The operatives that worked beside her were loyal, understanding - as Nikita did not - that Quinn would not be stuck in Comm. forever - or even much longer.

In the first two years of Nikita's reign operatives had died left, right and center; there had been little faith in the leadership. And less respect. Nikita's determination to protect new recruits and forge an impossibly idealistic Section had been of immense benefit to Quinn. New recruits and substandard operatives were protected and given numerous chances, at the expense of the more experienced, battle-hardened "veterans" - the backbone of Section One.

Inexperienced and incompetent operatives endangered both lives and missions; gone were the days when a team leader could cancel them on the spot. Instead, they had been forced to pull double duty, take extra risks, and do it while carrying the useless team member's dead weight.

Many good operatives had died in the process.

Few had been impressed with the new leadership, including most of those "recruited" from other Sections and related agencies. Had there been one among them willing to take command, or had they then been willing to support Quinn, Nikita's leadership would have ended on the spot.

_It was not to be._

When Nikita was captured, Quinn had sincerely hoped the terrorists would do her a favor and put a bullet in the blonde's head. Once again, fate dealt her a bad hand. A rival group had given Section Nikita's location and they had been forced to rescue her.

With Nikita's return to duty, Section One underwent some changes - within a month mission success rates were up, casualty rates were down. Senior operatives found themselves in improved positions, with increased chances of survival. It was not enough; few changed their opinions of Section One's leader.

What the changes did improve was some of those operatives' opinion of Section One's previous leadership. Nikita's new regime appeared so similar to what had come before her rise to power that it was difficult not to think of it.

A person's memory is subjective - we remember what we wish. What often happens, when people are dissatisfied with what is before them, is that they look to the past; with time they will see what they want to - something better.

Those who had once barely endured the previous leadership now looked with kinder eyes upon Paul and Madeline. Two people who had been so universally hated while alive, in death were touted as the very epitome of all that was good and just in Section's world. People remembered them not as they were, but as they desired them to be.

Paul and Madeline's newfound popularity was a godsend for someone as closely associated with one of them as Quinn herself was. Because of her association, she found herself accepted among those operatives; they respected her, trusted her and, most importantly, they would support her.

_Only a matter of time._

************

Adrian Vetti.

He would never forget the name; never forget the man.

He would never forget the man's fate.

He could still see him - on the couch in Kristoff's office - right hand swollen beyond belief; two barely visible holes; bloody threads falling from his gums; his face streaked with red tears. The Terciopelo had bitten Adrian only once and delivered with its venom the most gruesome of deaths - his body had died piece by piece.

A black mouthful of blood had signaled the end of the man's suffering and anguish - punishment for his betrayal; it was too long in coming for Daniel's taste.

Daniel had feared both Kristoff and snakes ever since - twenty-one years later he was still haunted by the image. Kristoff was long dead, conveniently killed by Section over fifteen years before. But snakes were everywhere - he was looking at one.

Andrew, turning pink and grinding his teeth with enthusiasm, was coiled and ready to strike.

It was both fascinating and unsettling for Daniel as he watched Janet baiting the man.

"Andrew; I was wrong. You were right. Are we happy now?" She was snide, condescending and obviously so.

Daniel didn't believe the words any more than Andrew did.

"No." Andrew said, looking about ready to burst a blood vessel.

"Such a hard man to please - I said you were right." She smiled sweetly.

"You didn't mean it." Andrew was beginning to turn purple.

"You could tell? I thought I was an excellent liar." She managed to sound disappointed.

Daniel suppressed a smile.

"My fifth grade drama teacher told me I had the makings of a real star." She jutted out her bottom lip, looking truly forlorn.

She'd been home schooled and drama had not been a part of the curriculum - Andrew was only too aware of that.

"Scott." Though Andrew's body was tense and his tone angry, he had yet to raise his voice.

"I'm sorry, what about him?" She was at her desk, absently leafing through files which she had had Daniel create a few hours before.

"The meeting." Andrew looked about ready to send the files and their owner across the room.

Daniel marveled at his restraint, self-preservation was the ultimate motivator.

"Meeting?" She looked up with a puzzled expression and then, as though she'd only just remembered; "It's not for a month."

Andrew took a deep breath, his hands clinched in fists. "Bring. It. Forward." Each word was clipped.

Andrew was allowing his frustration to show just a little too clearly for his taste; Daniel moved to stand closer to Janet.

She caught the movement and winked at him.

"It's not for a month." She dropped the file she was holding, leaned back in her chair and directed her full attention at Andrew, as though deciding the time for play was over.

"You are being unreasonable." Andrew's tone was more controlled, but his frustration was still rather poorly concealed.

"It suits me." No smile this time.

"It really doesn't," Andrew snapped.

Janet lifted an eyebrow in response.

Andrew immediately backed down, doing his imitation of reasonable. "I really think we should meet with him."

"And we will. In a month." Her tone was even, deadly calm.

"Daniel?" Andrew pleaded for assistance.

It was so rare that Andrew involved him in conversations that this decision to include him now took Daniel off guard. "I really wouldn't know," he responded lamely.

Janet shot him a serene smile. "Have I told you you're a genius?" Her tone was light but her eyes told another story.

"Only twice this week, but then it is only Monday." Daniel kept his face blank.

"You're both mad," Andrew hissed.

Daniel couldn't resist; "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Andrew's voice had risen, files were sent flying across the room - he faced Daniel, but the question was probably directed at them both.

"Andrew." Her voice was chilling.

Andrew immediately turned back towards the desk - Janet was standing.

Andrew seemed to deflate before their very eyes. One look at Janet's face seemed to drain him of his anger and replace it with fear. Andrew sat down, took a deep breath and then spoke so softly Daniel could barely hear him.

"We need to bring the meeting forward."

"The others would never agree to it," she said in an even tone of voice.

Andrew nodded once. "We could still meet with him."

Sounding somewhat bored now. "Is it really necessary?"

Andrew drew himself up. "I believe so."

Janet sighed loudly. "Then arrange a meeting and talk him down."

Andrew wasn't the type of person who knew when to quit. "We should both go."

"I see no reason for that."

"He's about to go to war." Andrew didn't sound the least bit annoyed, his perceived victory working wonders for his temperament.

"He's not quite that stupid." She smiled.

Andrew, a little louder now. "He's frustrated, he doesn't have enough information and frankly neither do I."

Daniel enjoyed "Indignant Andrew."

Janet was beginning to sound weary. "It's how it has to be, make sure he understands that."

"If we just..."

She cut Andrew off. "No."

"I really think..."

And again. "Andrew." This time her tone was harsh. The conversation was over.

Andrew wisely decided to call it a day. "Understood." He got up to leave.

"I haven't offered you my congratulations," she said.

Andrew looked confused.

Daniel added "Confused Andrew" to his like column.

"Anna's pregnancy," Janet intoned.

"Ah, right." There was a touch of relief in Andrew's reaction.

"Congratulations." She even managed a realistic looking smile.

Andrew seemed a little taken aback. "Thank you," he managed before practically running from the office.

Janet sat down, turning her seat to face the window. After a few moments' silence. "What do you think?"

Daniel was sure she had already made up her mind, but played along. "He's already arranged that meeting."

"Undoubtedly." She seemed to be expecting more.

"He's going to betray us." He was certain.

"He already has."

Daniel wasn't surprised. "Should I take care of it?"

She turned her chair back till she faced him. "Wait till after the consortium meeting. This could very well work in our favor."

He would have preferred not to wait so long, but trusted her judgment. "Both?"

She nodded. "Mentz as well."

He'd already given the task some thought. "Peters and Allen?" They would be acting as Andrew's protection.

She sighed. "A regrettable loss."

There was only one other contingency. "What about Anna?"

She didn't answer immediately, instead focusing her attention on the bookcase residing on the left-hand wall. For a minute she simply studied it, then in a low voice she replied. "Her husband talks in his sleep."

He understood. "And she's the type that listens."

Janet gave him a half-hearted smile and turned back to the window.

Daniel took it as a dismissal.

"Be careful." Her tone was warm.

He smiled in response. "It's my middle name."

Janet laughed softly. "I thought it was James."

"It's an honorary type of thing." He reached the door and pulled it open.

"Daniel." She stared out the window, sounding miles away.

"Yes?" He suddenly felt uneasy.

"About Anna."

Her tone turned unease to nervousness.

_Another risk?_

"Yes?"

"Make it quick."

******

_She has to reach him. She needs to hurry. Time is running out. She knows it, but she doesn't dare go faster - every time she does, she trips and falls. Every time she falls it becomes that much harder to get up, to keep going._

_She can see him; he is lying face down in a mass of rubble, just a few meters in the distance. She slows her pace, approaching with caution, carefully weaving her way through the broken furniture, construction material, and blood-caked bodies. If she falls again she is certain she will not be able to get back on her feet._

_She has reached his side. She grabs an arm, pulls him over on to his back. His eyes are closed, his face a mass of bruises; she feels for a pulse but cannot find one._

_Please God, no._

_Suddenly his eyes are open; he stares at her, pain etched in every feature._

_"I'm here, it's going to be alright. I'll get us out of here." She tries to lift him and falls to her knees - gravity and exhaustion keep her there. She cannot give up; he needs her. "I'm going to save you, I promise."_

_He looks confused. "But you're too late."_

_She is staring into a pair of lifeless eyes; one half of his face is a bloody mass, the other a picture of agony. He is dead; she has failed. There is a noise - cackling, evil._

_She turns in the direction of the noise - nothing but shadows. Darkness closes in; she attempts to ward it off but is unsuccessful. It comes closer; there is something within it, something evil._

_She looks for something to defend herself; everything she grasps turns to ash in her hands._

_The darkness consumes her._

_There is nothing and then there is gray - it is all encompassing. She is in a room, sitting in a chair - alone. There is a door, it opens; someone is there, they are watching her - she feels their eyes._

_She must escape; something horrible will happen if she does not, she cannot stay here. Her friends are going to die._

_She stands, looking for some other way out - there is none._

_She cannot move._

_Someone is holding her - two men, tall and strong with vice-like grips._

_There is a woman with dark-hair; blood trails down her face from two gaping holes where her eyes should be. She is speaking but the language is foreign._

_The woman laughs; she sounds like a hyena._

_Pain._

_Black._

_A voice. "He is dead."_

_Who? Who is dead?_

_She tries to remember - there is a face with lifeless brown eyes._

_Red._

_Death._

_Someone is beside her - she is in the Perch._

_Paul._

_Blue eyes meet._

_"What happened here?" She needs to know._

_He smiles. "You did."_

_Her father. "You alone."_

_Laughter._

_Screaming._

It is she.

Her sheets are drenched in sweat, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. With each waking moment, the details of the nightmare fade from her memory but an overwhelming sense of loss remains. Hot tears flow freely down her checks.

From previous experience she knows there is no point trying to get back to sleep so she kicks off her covers and heads to the bathroom of her Section quarters. She turns on the taps, allows the water to run down the drain for a few moments and then splashes some on her face. She washes away the dregs of sleep, hoping to wash away her guilt along with it.

Looking at the drawn face in the mirror she wonders - not for the first time - what has become of her. It is not a face she recognizes, it belongs to someone else - some stranger who pretends to be her. The same stranger, who orders people to their deaths and allows the deaths of innocents to serve some greater good - it isn't real; she cannot be responsible for such horrors.

And yet it is she - this stranger in the mirror.

She is the person who, just the day before, ordered someone to kill a four-year-old named Katie. She chose to allow a cute little blonde girl, with blue ribbons holding her pigtails in place to die.

_To die so that a thousand just like her could live - for the greater good. It was important; it was necessary._

_Bullshit - just more excuses._

All meaningless when she has to look herself in the mirror at four in the morning. Her efforts seem pitiful, everything she has done is wasteful and without purpose. She allowed a child to die, actually ordered an operative to murder the girl. It doesn't matter that a terrorist was using Katie as a shield; it doesn't matter that if they allowed him to escape thousands more would die.

It doesn't matter and it never will.

But at four in the morning she wants to believe that it does matter, that she did all she could - she made the right decision and Katie had to die. More than anything she wants to believe she could not save Katie. If she couldn't save Katie, maybe she couldn't save him either, and if that were true, she could stop blaming herself - then maybe the nightmares would go away.

She needs them to go away. She needs sleep - she needs relief.

_I cannot continue living like this. I can't._

She is heading for an early grave. She knows it. She believes it.

_I need help._

But there is no one left.

_All gone; all dead._

A heart attack had claimed Walter over a year before.

Birkoff...

Jason...

Michael...


	2. Chapter 2

Janet was surprised it had taken so long; Karl had been back a whole six hours before he came barging into her office with his self-righteous wrath.

"You killed them!" Karl thundered upon entering.

There was no point in responding; he hadn't bothered to ask a question.

"What were you thinking? Were you thinking? This could jeopardize everything! We've worked so hard, then you go and throw it all away - why? Because he wouldn't sleep with you anymore or something?" He waited.

He was waiting for an answer to his latest question - she was somewhat amused. "I'm not quite so pedestrian."

Karl seemed quite pleased with her reply; she didn't waste time wondering why.

"You had him killed though?" He paused long enough for her to acknowledge his question with a nod of her head. He sighed loudly. "Janet, what the hell is wrong with you? We needed him; we needed Scott and Mentz as well, I'm guessing they weren't just caught in the crossfire. Why?" His tone was positively whiny.

"Their deaths will help not hinder our efforts." Janet kept her own tone neutral.

Karl looked doubtful.

She repressed her desire to shoot him in the head, deciding it probably wouldn't do him the least bit of harm. "Red Cell will certainly go to war now."

"With us," he moaned.

_It's official! I am surrounded by morons._

"They will blame Section."

"What makes you so sure?" A child's challenge.

_Why do I bother?_

"Ad tristem partem strenua est suspicio - one is keen to suspect a quarter from which one has once received hurt," Janet lectured.

He disliked such responses and became more agitated. "How can you be sure this will work in our favor?"

"Because we can control the outcome." She smiled brightly, picturing Karl six feet under.

He gave her a vacant look in return. "Since when?"

"Our assistance has been requested." She spoke to him like she would a four-year old.

_I really don't like children._

"By whom?" He'd plastered on his confused expression.

Janet was getting tired of his whiny tone. "Red Cell."

"How did they even find out about us?" He looked at her accusingly.

_Stupidity breeds contempt._

"Either Scott told them or Andrew did."

"Andrew?" The vacant expression again.

She smiled. "Scott put them in touch."

"How long?" Now he was worried.

"Not long enough to matter." Janet waved a hand in a dismissive manner.

"How much do they know?"

_Like a dog with a bone._

She sighed. "Little, and nothing important." If he were punishment for misdeeds in a former life, she had to have done something truly deplorable.

Karl nodded, looking thoughtful. "This will affect the timetable."

It was doubtful he'd be winning a Nobel Prize anytime soon.

"We are ready." Janet assured him.

Karl began to pace - he seemed to find it easier to think while marching in a rhythm. "It's risky. The odds aren't in our favor."

"Then lets improve the odds," Janet said standing. She wondered briefly if idiocy might be contagious.

"How?"

"Patience is a virtue." She grinned, feeling anything but cheerful.

"Don't start that shit. I need to know." He came to stand in front of her.

Looking deeply into his eyes, Janet smiled brightly. "I have a meeting." She could smell the sickly sweetness of his cologne.

"Janet." Karl reached out, his hand briefly caressing her cheek before coming to rest on her shoulder.

If stupidity were contagious, her I.Q. would surely drop a few points with the contact. "I have a meeting," she repeated.

He sighed deeply - a sad expression claimed his features.

_Not this again._

Janet shrugged off his hand, turned and walked out of the room, leaving Karl alone with his thoughts.

************

She'd been given eight weeks, used seven and was still no closer to finding him. If she didn't locate him soon, Jasmine was certain to be headed to Abeyance - if not cancellation. She hadn't expected it to be easy, but she hadn't expected it to be quite so difficult either; Jasmine had hit so many dead ends it was a wonder she didn't have a concussion. Michael and his son had disappeared - it was as though they had never existed.

"Anything promising?" she asked Mitchell, for what felt like the hundredth time that week.

He sighed, running a giant hand through his shaggy hair. "More of the same - a few possible."

_Better than nothing._

"Well?" She was impatient.

"Guy in France rescued some people from a fire, didn't want publicity. A guy in hospital in Germany, lots of scars and no memory of how he came by them. Three contacts swear they saw Michael in three separate states in America. Another four contacts insist he's in various countries in Europe. One claims Michael is living in Australia. And then we have the contact who watched Adam play soccer in New Hampshire - USA."

"Right. No doubt our most reliable contacts. What are the other sources like?" She dreaded the answer.

"Doctor at the German hospital and the other I got from the net." He grinned sheepishly.

"Uh-huh."  _Abeyance here I come!_  "We'll check them all out."

Her phone started ringing; she answered on the fourth ring, "Yes?"

"Report," Operations' cool voice ordered.

_Perfect timing._

"We have a few leads, we are following them up."

"You haven't found him." Operations sounded disappointed.

"No, but it..."

Operations cut her off. "I don't need to hear excuses."

Jasmine repressed a sigh. "Right."

"Do I need to remind you of how important this mission is?" Operations asked.

Jasmine was prompt to respond, "No, Ma'am."

"Get it done."

"Yes, Ma'am," Jasmine said to the dial tone. She felt drained of energy. She turned to find Mitchell staring at her, curiosity burning in his eyes. "Operations is not impressed with our lack of progress," she told him.

"What does she expect?" Simon announced himself by asking.

Jasmine was sick of Simon; for the last week all he'd done was criticize Operations and make a general nuisance of himself.

"I'm sorry?" she replied acidly.

"What does she expect?" He willfully misinterpreted her.

"I'm not deaf. What did you mean?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Jasmine remained silent.

"Michael's a pro, if he doesn't want to be found we are not going to find him." Simon explained.

"Your point?" Maintaining her control was difficult.

He shrugged. "I just made it. This is a waste of time. Why are we searching for her old boyfriend anyhow?"

 _He's probably right._  "We follow our orders."

"Whatever." Simon sat down next to Mitchell.

"Go get packed you're going to check out some leads here in Europe," she said, her tone now harsh.

Simon stood. "Yes, Ma'am."

"You'll get an ID and report back; you will not engage, you will not expose yourself. Got it?"

Simon grinned. "I'm not to expose myself, yep, got it."

"Cassidy will be going with you," Jasmine continued.

"Always a pleasure to work with a beautiful woman." Simon winked at Mitchell and then left the room.

_He'll be the death of me._

Jasmine sighed. "Lore and I will check out the sightings stateside," she told Mitchell.

Mitchell mumbled an acknowledgement, keeping his head down in order to hide a smile.

******

Winter was fast approaching; the leaves on the surrounding trees a collection of red and golden hews. The air was crisp. Michael stood leaning against a tall oak, watching Adam play soccer with a couple of friends nearby. It was slightly cold in the shadow of the tree, but some habits died hard and Michael would always choose shadows over the warming sun.

Lately he had become more relaxed - less observant - more the father and less the operative; but he would always be cautious, some part of him forever on alert. He swept his eyes over the surrounding area, his custom every five to ten minutes, and was shocked by the sight of her.

He hadn't seen her enter the park, nor had he seen her take a seat on the bench nearby. But there she was, sitting on a bench not ten yards away from him - somehow managing to make her black pants suit look casual, even with the matching black scarf and dark FBI style glasses.

She didn't belong, and yet, to the average observer she would not have seemed out of place. Michael probably would have dismissed her himself had she not seemed to be staring directly at him. Her attention captured his.

Shivers traveled up his spine, he scanned the park, looking for other operatives, but was unable to detect any and unnerved because of it. He brought his eyes back to her, she no longer seemed to be looking in his direction, but Michael couldn't be sure. She seemed to be waiting for something - Michael suspected that something was himself.

He looked back towards the impromptu soccer game - Adam was still there - then closed the distance between the strangely familiar woman and himself. She didn't turn in his direction, but when he was within a few feet she spoke.

"You were much too easy to find Michael."

He had thought she was familiar before but when he heard the voice, Michael knew. "Janet."

Janet turned her face towards him and slowly reached a hand up to remove her glasses. Green eyes met green. "I'm touched you remember." She smiled warmly, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"I was unlikely to forget." Sixteen years on, Michael remembered it like yesterday. One of his first missions; one of his first mistakes. Michael forced himself to smile back at her and closed the small distance to bestow the expected quick kiss on each cheek. He then sat down beside her, turning his eyes once more to watch Adam.

"Section is looking for you." Her glaze wandered the park in the deliberately casual way of one well trained.

Michael considered her words for a few moments. "Purpose?"

A wan smile. "Recruitment."

"Who?" Michael had a sinking suspicion he knew the answer.

"Operations."

Janet spoke the name with little - if any - emotion, but that did not lessen its effect on Michael. It was as though she had kicked him in the solar plexus. He watched as Adam kicked the soccer ball from one end of the field to the other, happily unaware that his world was about to be wrenched out from under him.

_Again._

Michael's limbs felt heavy. "Why?"

"She requires a second, you are the most qualified." Janet's eyes continued their survey, while her words continued their assault.

"Why now?" His voice seemed unusually calm to his ears.

_Would Nikita really do such a thing?_

"Pressure from above." Janet told him.

"Reason?"

_Who is this emotionless robot managing to ask such questions in that calm, clear voice?_

"Lack of confidence in Operations' abilities," she calmly informed him.

Michael turned to face Janet, tracing every line of her face for any indication that what she was saying wasn't true. It was a wasted effort and it didn't really matter; he was already convinced. "How long do I have?" His voice broke.

On some level he had always expected the day would come, but just because Nikita's betrayal was expected didn't make it any less painful. He felt as though Nikita had stabbed him in the heart.

"Two days at the most." Janet turned and met his eyes.

"What are you offering?" Michael knew her well enough to know she hadn't come all this way just to give him a warning.

"Payment."

_A single word can communicate so much._

His eyes found Adam.

_He would never understand; I would never forgive myself. I cannot go back._

He nodded once.

Janet indicated the continuing game. "We don't need to leave straight away; he can play a little longer."

Michael didn't reply.

They watched his son play soccer in the dreary Park that only an hour before had seemed so beautiful to Michael's eyes.

******

"He's gone," Jasmine announced in a tired voice.

"Then he was there?" Nikita didn't bother keeping the impatience from her own.

"Yes, not two days ago," Jasmine confirmed.

"Any indication of where he went?"

"Negative." Jasmine sounded defeated.

"Any indication that he knew we were coming?" Nikita prodded.

Jasmine sighed. "He's not here."

"Return to Section," Nikita ordered in a cold tone.

"You don't want us to..."

She cut Jasmine off. "You're not going to find him. Come in."

"On our way."

Nikita ended the transmission by banging her hand hard against the console - a sharp, biting pain traveled up the length of her arm.

"Damn him," she said angrily.

Michael had deserted her yet again. She felt betrayed. She felt an overwhelming need to break something, to tear the world apart with her bare hands. Michael had to know she would never break her promise unless it was absolutely necessary.

_Section needs him - I need him - and he's run away._

Away from Section, away from her - Nikita hated him for his cowardice. She had given so much and asked so little; how could he abandon her in her time of need? How could he do this to her? How could he be so selfish, so uncaring - so Michael.

"Just like old times." She laughed bitterly.

There was no point in raging about it; no sense in wasting her energy screaming about the injustice of it all, weeping over his betrayal. There was too much to do for her to indulge in such luxuries as temper tantrums, not when necessities such as sleep were difficult to accommodate.

Michael was gone and she had work to do.

Nikita had a briefing in an hour, a report to complete that Oversight needed yesterday, two active missions she was supposed to be monitoring, a failed mission she had to investigate, a dozen reports that had needed her attention for over a month - and more arriving every hour. She had proposals to consider - to approve or refuse and, thanks to Michael's disappearing act, she now had to find a Second-In-Command.

Nikita had no time to rage, no time to weep. She had to work.

That is what Nikita did. She reviewed the failed mission, sent the profiler to Abeyance and would have marked the team leader for cancellation had he not died during the mission. She read over two proposals - rejecting both, briefed the team on the new mission, kept one eye on the missions in progress and managed to review 11 of the 12 reports that had been waiting a month - plus four that had arrived within the month. Nikita even managed to draw up a list of four possible candidates for her Second.

Nine hours later - twenty-one hours since her day began - her eyes were closing despite her best efforts; Nikita knew she should call it a day. But that one report remained - it was last for a reason.

Nikita opened the file and scanned it quickly. She already knew what it said, Quinn had given an oral account - somehow it was more real in print.

_I was wrong._

It hadn't been Janet. It was a group called Black Order - in Section's systems for over twenty years - and no one had considered them a threat.

_Not exactly no one._

Someone had gone to the trouble of wiping the organization off the face of the planet, and they did it using Section methods. Someone wanted Section to be blamed; someone didn't want to be noticed. Immediately Nikita thought of Janet, but then dismissed the idea.

_The woman cannot be everywhere at once - Janet isn't responsible for everything._

Black Order had previous run-ins with Red Cell, but no one else - they knew of. Section had dealt Red Cell an almost fatal blow a few years back; Nikita doubted they had recovered enough to manage something of that scale. It was a mystery, one they needed to solve.

_You're not going to solve it tonight._

Nikita closed the file, logged off and left the Perch for the tangle of her sheets.

************

The car slowed in front of a three-story homestead, neither ostentatious nor pedestrian in nature. It had a classic elegance, difficult to achieve without a great deal of money - Michael was impressed.

When the car stopped, the door was immediately opened; an elderly gentleman then offered his hand to assist Janet in exiting. Michael supposed he and Adam were on their own as the man took up position by the car door as soon as she was on her feet.

Janet didn't bother waiting for them to follow; instead she marched up the steps and straight into the house as though just remembering something of importance. He was only too aware that the most pressing thing on her mind was to get away from Adam before she shot him in the head.

Janet disliked children; Adam was not an exception. Unfortunately, from the moment Adam laid eyes on her he adored her. On the plane he had insisted on sitting next to her, talking her ear off for the entire flight. When they had moved to the hotel, she had barricaded herself in her room at first, citing business as an excuse to avoid them. Adam had whined the entire time that she was absent. Continuously wanting to know where she was, what she was doing and how much longer she would be doing it.

When Janet finally appeared - two full days later - Adam had clung to her like a leech. For the three weeks it had taken them to complete their journey, Adam had been her shadow. Michael had never seen him behave in this manner. Adam didn't normally accept people so quickly, nor was he inclined to smothering someone with his attention, especially someone that was so little inclined to accept it.

Though it made him uneasy that his son would choose to associate with the likes of Janet, Michael had welcomed the distraction Adam's behavior provided. It allowed him to forget, for a few moments at least, the reason for their journey.

Michael exited the vehicle, and with Adam following close behind, climbed the steps and entered the house through the doors Janet had left open.

A man stood just inside the doorway. Michael completed a quick evaluation: The man had the eyes of a killer; muscles strained against the material of his expensive suit.

The man offered a large bronzed hand in greeting. "Welcome. I'm Daniel."

Michael shook Daniel's hand. "Michael. This is Adam." He pushed his son forward.

Daniel shook Adam's hand. "Janet requests your company in her office Michael. I'll show Adam around the house."

Michael nodded his agreement.

"Very good," Daniel said. "Di will direct you," he informed Michael before leading off a reluctant Adam.

"If you'll come this way."

Michael turned quickly. He hadn't heard the woman enter the room. I'm slipping.

The woman smiled reassuringly. "I'm Di. Janet sent me to get you."

"Yes," Michael said, mask firmly in place.

Di's smile widened. She turned and began walking at a brisk pace. Di led him through the house to the east wing and stopped before a large oak door. "She's waiting for you," she said and then left him, disappearing into the depths of the house.

Michael opened the door and entered.

Janet was on the phone, she raised one hand in greeting and continued her conversation. "I don't see how that's my problem...no?...I really don't think so...yes, he is?...you can't do it?...I don't want to hear excuses!...like I said...you have till Friday...Friday, goodbye." She hung up. "Michael, have a seat."

"You wanted to see me?" he opened.

"Yes, I've some good news for you. Section won't be bothering you anymore," Janet announced.

"For now," Michael amended.

"For good."

 _For good?_  He raised an eyebrow in query.

"Red Cell is about to destroy them, so they won't be bothering anyone anymore." Janet smiled.

"Source?"

"I consider it to be very reliable information." She appeared amused.

"Is Section aware of the threat?"  _If Nikita knew..._

Janet laughed softly. "If they were aware of it, they might survive to be a problem." She considered him. "You want to warn them."

"Yes."

"Even when you know their demise will guarantee your freedom?" She looked at him curiously.

 _At such a cost?_  "Yes," Michael restated simply.

"How very noble of you. You are my guest Michael and you will be treated as such. You are free to do whatever you wish, but I'd advise against interfering with my plans."

Michael paused a moment, containing his anger by biting down on his tongue. "Is Red Cell's destruction of Section a part of your plans?"

Janet smiled, saying nothing at first. "I could make it work for me."

"I would like to warn them." He held her gaze.

She sighed. "Do as you like."

Michael didn't respond.

"Make my job harder, why don't you." Janet grinned widely.

Michael doubted he knew a person he liked less.

******

There simply weren't enough hours in the day.

The appointment of a Second-In-Command should have lessened Nikita's workload but it hadn't - it had increased it. She now had to make time in her day to correct his mistakes.

He - Jacob, a transfer from Section Two - wasn't adapting as quickly as Nikita had hoped. He was improving and in time he would be a competent second for her, but she needed one now. Nikita couldn't continue doing his work as well as hers; things were getting missed and the success rate was slipping.

If Jacob didn't improve quickly she would have to request help from Oversight - that Nikita didn't want to do. Oversight was impatient of late; she believed they were looking for a reason to replace her - she didn't want to give them a reason. She needed to hold on; she had to find the strength to continue. If NIkita didn't, Janet's victory would be assured - that she wasn't going to allow.

_Paul had it easy._

If Nikita had a Second like Madeline, she'd be on 93% too, if she had Michael... _she's dead and he may as well be - stop thinking about it, you've work to do._

 _I'm tired. So very tired._  Nikita wanted to lie down and never get up again - give up and let the world take care of itself, only it wouldn't and she couldn't. She got to work.

Nikita was an hour into the jumble of "paperwork" when she noticed the message; she recognized the code at once.  _Michael._ She opened the files; eager to discover what he had sent to her, perhaps he wasn't going to desert her.

At first Nikita thought it was his idea of a sick joke, but then she remembered Michael didn't have a sense of humor. She scanned the information; it was real, it was happening. She had to act - fast.

Nikita grabbed her cell phone placing a call at the same time she hit the connection to Comm. "Any missions graded below level two are hereby cancelled," she told them as a voice sounded in her ear.

"Yes." Quinn sounded groggy.

Ignoring the puzzled looks she was getting from the operatives below her, she said, "Jennifer. Come in."

"I'll be there in twenty," Quinn replied.

"Be here in ten," Nikita snapped and cut the connection. Turning her attention back to Comm. "Quinn is on her way - call everyone else in and send someone to wake up Jacob," she instructed them.

They didn't move.

"NOW!" Nikita thundered.

They flew into action. Five minutes later, a scruffy Jacob entered the Perch.

"Red Cell is readying an attack; we are going to take them out first. Get together with the relevant department heads and whoever else you need, I want a profile in three hours," she handed him a PDA onto which she'd downloaded the information.

Jacob scanned it quickly. "Is this accurate?"

"I believe so - now get to work."

He was quick to comply.

 _We need to move quickly._  Section had a window of opportunity, but it could close at any time. If they missed their chance, Red Cell would succeed.

_Over my dead body!_

************

She'd gotten unbelievably lucky at the worst possible time. Somebody up there had it in for him, Curtis was sure. There was now no chance Butler and Mendoza would vote for Nikita's removal - she had destroyed Red Cell.

Butler had already called to inform him of his change of heart.

"We can't very well replace her now, can we?" Butler had said. "I'm sure you agree," he went on to add.

Butler was wrong - Curtis didn't agree and he never would.

_It was a fluke. A lucky break Nikita had little to do with._

Far from convincing him that Nikita was an intelligent, talented leader, the destruction of Red Cell had convinced Curtis that Nikita was a complete moron - so far out of her depth that she was treading water. It was only a matter of time before she drowned, taking Section One with her. Luck couldn't hold forever; the other members of Oversight were fools if they couldn't see it.

Red Cell had been planning their attack for years - probably five - and Section hadn't any idea until they received an anonymous warning. How did that denote good leadership? How did that make Nikita worthy of the title Operations?

In Curtis's opinion it didn't, but he was very much alone.

There was no possibility of the Oversight Committee removing her now, even if Center would allow it, and he doubted they would. No. They would place their lives in Nikita's slippery fingers and their survival would depend on luck alone. Lady Luck was a fickle mistress. They'd be dead inside a year.

Curtis had sacrificed too much to allow that to happen. He had devoted the majority of his life to Section; his blood, his sweat and tears were shed in building it. He had given up his life, his past and his future for the course. He'd watched others die for it; he'd mourned their deaths. Curtis couldn't stand aside and allow her to destroy it.

While others crossed their fingers and hoped for the best, he was going to find another way - any way. He sat in his starkly lit office considering his options, they were few in number - all legitimate avenues were closed to him.

He considered the illicit ones. Looking at them from every angle, he weighed the pros and cons before rejecting all but one. Armed with a working strategy, Curtis went about putting it into action.

His hand shook as he picked up his phone; he fumbled while attaching the scrambling device. He took time dialing the number.

The man was quick to answer. "Yes."

"Owen?" Curtis thought his voice sounded higher than normal.

"Curtis?" Owen replied.

"Yes."

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Owen's voice was like soft velvet.

Now or never. Curtis breathed deeply. "I need you to find someone for me."

"What sort of someone?"

"Your sort of someone."

Owen paused for a moment. "Send the details."

Curtis had the file ready and waiting; he hit send and waited impatiently for Owen to digest it. Just when the silence was becoming unbearable, Owen spoke.

"Interesting." Owen stretched out the word.

"Heard of her?" Curtis knew he sounded too eager.

"No. That's what's interesting." Owen laughed softly. "Sure she's a player and not just a drone?" Owen asked a few moments later.

Curtis was beginning to think he'd made a mistake. "My Intel is limited."

"You're telling me." Owen sighed.

"You don't think you can find her," Curtis ventured, almost hoping Owen would say he couldn't.

"I didn't say that," Owen quietly responded.

"Well?" Curtis prodded.

"It will be difficult." Owen dragged out each word.

"That is why I called you," he snapped.

Owen sighed. "I have a list of items."

Curtis smiled - Owen was predictable. "Send it. I will see what I can do."

"I'll contact you when I have something."

"You do that." Curits concluded the conversation, hung up and removed the scrambling device from the phone.

He felt as though he'd just run a marathon - his stomach was a fiery ball of anxiety.

Curtis had taken his first step down an extremely dangerous road. What if the path lead to a future that was worse than the one he was trying to avoid? What if...?

_There is no other option._

_Sometimes the devil is the only one open for business._

******

She hadn't left Section in over two months and had spent the majority of that time in Comm. Quinn was sick of Comm., she was sick of Section, but mostly, she was sick of Nikita.

Nikita had decided no Comm. operative would leave the premises until after they had restored and then reviewed Red Cell's entire database. Not the easiest of tasks, it was made more difficult by Nikita's insistence on hourly progress reports and continued visits to inform them their efforts weren't good enough. Morale was at an all-time low.

Under the circumstances, Quinn thought her team was doing exceptionally well; they had restored over 90% of the data, which was more than anyone should have expected, considering its state. Unfortunately Nikita wasn't just anyone, she was in charge and she wanted it all. The last ten percent was lost forever; there was nothing Quinn could do about it.

Nikita wasn't to be reasoned with, however; humoring her, Quinn had left four members of her team on the impossible task of retrieving the irretrievable. Everyone else, herself included, was reviewing Red Cell's database. It was a slow and mostly boring task, most of the information trivial and utterly useless. However, their orders dictated that every piece of data had to be viewed - Quinn didn't really feel like spending time in Abeyance for disobeying Nikita's order.

Currently Quinn was reviewing the security checkpoint records. Page after page listing time, date, personnel - their security clearances, fingerprints and pictures - for each checkpoint they passed through. She'd been looking at files for over four hours. She was bored, she was tired; she was seriously considering walking up to the Perch and shooting Nikita in the head.

She'd moved on to the next record before something clicked - the man's face was familiar. She'd been reviewing files for weeks; a familiar face wasn't uncommon, but this one raised alarm bells. There was something about him.

She went back, reviewed the record again. Nothing stood out. And yet...

She ran a quick search for other records. There was only one. His exit.

He had entered the base, stayed four hours and left the base the same day. He had passed through only one checkpoint, he had never visited the base before, and yet his clearance was high. That was unusual. His face was familiar.

_Why do I know you?_

Quinn decided to run his prints and see if she got lucky. She moved on to the next record; not expecting the computer to find a match anytime soon, she was surprised when the computer beeped almost immediately.

_A match?_

The fingerprints of Red Cell's one time visitor - Daniel Reilly - were a perfect match for Janet's second assistant.

For some reason, Quinn really wished she'd been a little less observant.

******

She sat in darkness staring out at a starless sky, softly tapping her fingers on the window ledge without rhythm. The house behind her was deceptively quiet, affording the illusion of solitude.

Janet found the illusion comforting. It allowed her the rare pleasure of relaxing, whiling away an evening of sleeplessness, imagining how the other half lived. She wondered what it was like to live such lives of ignorance - was it truly blissful or simply mundane?

She found it intriguing, contemplating possible answers and considering where - had circumstances differed - she might have fit within that world, if there was ever a place there for her. It was an enjoyable way for her to pass the time - ignoring the demands of her world.

As always her illusion was shattered sooner rather than later.

"Quid agis, dulcissime rerum?"  _(How are you, sweetest of creatures?)_  Daniel greeted from the door.

Though his presence was not wholly unwelcome, Janet released a dramatic sigh before responding, "Quid me alta silentia cogis rumpere?"  _(Why force me to break this pent-up silence?)_

"I've brought you a present," he announced, switching to English.

Janet turned from the window to face him, tracing his form with her eyes. "Is it by chance an exceptionally rare and exceedingly fine bottle of my favorite vice?" she asked smiling.

"Why yes, it is," he replied; she could hear the smile in his voice.

"In that case, you may intrude." She raised a welcoming hand.

Daniel strode farther into the room with his usual self-confidence. She heard him place a heavy object on her desk, before he came around the desk and placed a gentle kiss upon her upturned cheek. He plunked himself down on the blotter on her desk, leaning forward, hands on his knees.

He smiled widely. "Heard a nasty rumor about you."

"Oh?" she inquired with studied neutrality.

"I was informed, by a reliable source, that you slithered to the depths of depravity and patronized the village cafeteria Monday last." Daniel's tone was grave, but he was smiling.

"When in the throes of starvation, what can one do but rush madly towards the first eatery that comes within view?" Janet responded in as serious a tone as she could manage.

Daniel had a fondness for the dramatic; his mouth hung open and his hand came to rest upon his heart. "But such an eatery?" He even sounded shocked. "What of your reputation?"

Such moments of levity were now so rare; Janet had come to miss them. "When demise is the probable consequence, one must dispense with one's snobbery and lunch with the masses."

Daniel gifted her a number of tutts before condemning her actions with words. "Utterly reprehensible behavior Janet!"

Janet had missed him. "Horresco referens  _(I shudder to think of it)_  - I can hardly believe I allowed myself to do it."

He laughed loudly.

"How was your trip?" she ventured.

"Decidedly inconvenient." Daniel smiled without enthusiasm. He leaned forward. "There are bags under your eyes," he accused.

Janet could hear the concern in his voice - she examined her fingernails. "It's the lighting," she lied.

"I was watching on the monitor," he stated.

"Then it's the monitor." She didn't change position, didn't look up. Her tone alone carried the implicit warning, the laying down of boundaries; he was entering an area where his presence was unwelcome.

He sighed heavily. "Semper eadem."  _(Ever the same.)_

"What will you do when this is finished?" Janet hadn't meant to ask.

"Same thing I do now," he quickly replied.

She looked up. "You could retire, you know; you're a rich man."

Daniel shook his head. "I'm useless without you ordering me around; I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

"Very funny Daniel." Janet paused. "I'd really like you to consider it," she added quietly.

"Consider retiring?" He appeared surprised.

"Luck doesn't last forever, and you've had more than most," she informed him.

He laughed softly. "I'd die of boredom out there in the "real" world. I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

"You are irritating at times." She smiled.

"I know," he replied, in a singsong voice.

Janet abruptly changed the subject. "What news from the front?"

"Another base destroyed. Doesn't look good for our friends at Red Cell." He grinned.

"Damn shame that," she said, laughter in her voice.

"Whatever is the world coming to?" Daniel continued grinning.

"Securus judicat orbis terrarum."  _(The verdict of the world is conclusive.)_

He laughed again. "So, did you do anything of note while I destroyed Red Cell single-handedly?"

"A number of things, but only two that would interest one such as yourself," she responded.

"I've a feeling you just insulted me." Hand back on his heart. "Shoot."

"I've secured a new ally," she told him.

Daniel shrugged his shoulders. "Coming out of the woodwork aren't they?" He yawned. "So what was interesting?"

Janet smiled sweetly. "I've advanced the timetable."

He didn't say anything at first, just stared at her with a surprised expression. Finally he spoke, "I think you had better tell me more about this new ally."

Janet laughed, "Pull up a chair."

************

Less than a month before he had been there.

Six-foot one, blue-eyed blond, Daniel James Reilly was Janet's second assistant.

Nikita had spent coming on three years searching for a man who had been in Section's database all along - their searches hadn't included the dead. According to their records, Daniel James Reilly was killed in 1990 while in the employ of one Kristoff Alberto Baldacci - one of the most vicious terrorists Section had ever encountered. Unless Red Cell made a habit of logging in corpses Section's records were incorrect.

Three weeks before Section's arrival, Reilly had visited Red Cell's main base of operations; his fingerprints had been entered into the system, he'd smiled for his picture.

Operatives were poring over the Baldacci files, searching for some clue as to how Reilly managed to escape Section forces in 1990 and then elude them for the last 17 years. Luck could explain the first, but he'd have needed help on the second; as Janet couldn't have been more than ten, she was out. Somewhere in those files there was a name, a connection to Reilly; if they found it, they would be able to find him. Nikita was certain.

_And when we find him, we'll find Janet._

Oversight had finally given their permission; the hunt for Janet had begun in earnest. Database searches had yet to yield any results on the search for Janet and her first assistant, but they didn't need to. Reilly was the key; he would lead them to the others.

She heard someone behind her. "Yes?"

Quinn. "We may have found her."

Nikita blinked.  _Her. Not HIM. **HER.**_  "Janet?" She turned to face Quinn.

Quinn nodded. "Kristoff's sister, Helene, had a daughter with her husband Gideon Vasaro. Our records indicate the parents died in 1980, but there is no mention of the child..."

Nikita cut her off. "1980? When was she born?"

"April 4th 1977," Quinn read the date off her PDA.

 _Too old_  - was Nikita's immediate thought. "Her name was Janet?" She was willing to explore the idea.

Quinn shook her head again. "No, her first name was Debra, but her middle name begins with a J. In..."

Again she cut off Quinn. "The full name isn't on the birth certificate?"

Quinn sighed. "No."

 _Then why the hell are we talking?_  "What you are telling me is that this person - who may or may not be dead, has the middle initial J - that may or may not stand for Janet, and she may or may not be my Janet despite being about five years too old?" she snarled, thoroughly annoyed with Quinn.

Quinn's lips formed a single tight line; she said nothing at first, just glared fiercely at Nikita. "From 1980 onwards Debra's name doesn't appear on a single piece of paper - she disappeared. If she died we should have a death certificate - we don't. Gideon had no siblings, Helene had only Kristoff, and both sets of grandparents were dead. If the child survived, she went to live with her Uncle. In 1989 one of our operatives infiltrated Kristoff's organization. She lived in his house for a time, and in one of her early reports, she mentioned a girl named Deb. The operative was pulled out in 1990, just before the raid, in debrief she gave a list of all the houses' occupants, the name Deb did not appear..."

Nikita cut in. "Who was the operative?"

Quinn looked annoyed to have been interrupted yet again, but answered the question, "Simone Chiang."

 _Simone Chiang? Simone..._  "Not..."

This time it was Quinn who cut off Nikita. "Yes, one and the same." Quinn paused as though she expected Nikita to speak again, when she didn't, Quinn continued, "In 2001 a J.H.Baldacci brought a large parcel of land in the United States, just outside Baltimore. J.H.Baldacci has a birth certificate and all relevant documentation; but before 1993, she doesn't appear to have had a bank account, a driver's license, a library card or anything else. So, I think we may have found her." Quinn was at her bitchy best.

"Send a team, surveillance only." Nikita was icy cold.

"Yes Ma'am," Quinn muttered on her way out.

_Keep this up and you'll end up in Abeyance._

Nikita looked down upon Comm.; a few minutes later Quinn marched across the room and took her seat. The woman got straight to work, and in very little time, the first cold operatives wandered towards the briefing table. For all Quinn's faults, she was good at her job.  _If only she wasn't so eager to steal mine._

By the time the necessary operatives were assembled, Nikita had thoroughly examined the information on Debra Vasaro and J. Baldacci - she was convinced they were one and the same. She was convinced they had found Janet.

_I'll bathe in her blood._

******

However dangerous anger was, love was more so.

He had allowed emotion to rule; he had allowed his feelings to dictate his actions. And now...

Now, Michael was in trouble. Now, he and Adam were "guests'" in Janet's house, and at her mercy.

"You're not sleeping?" a voice questioned in softly accented french.

Michael followed the sound of the voice and found Janet leaning casually against the doorway.

"Nor I," she continued with a smile. "May I join you?"

It was her house; Michael nodded. "Of course."

Janet moved further into the room and, making a sweeping gesture with her hand, announced, "This is my favorite part of the house."

"It is comfortable."

Janet came and sat in an armchair across from him; she sunk into the cushions, observing him in silence.

Michael detected the faint aroma of alcohol and, though Janet displayed no outward symptoms of intoxication, he suspected she was drunk. She looked terrible, as though she hadn't slept or eaten in days. Dark circles were forming around her eyes; her cheekbones looked like blades beneath her skin. Janet seemed leached of energy.

Michael thought the look suited her - it seemed more honest.

After a prolonged staring match, Janet broke the silence. "Forget her."

The comment took Michael off guard; he hadn't thought he was so transparent. Nikita and Adam were all he had thought about the last few days. "I cannot."

Janet smiled with false sympathy. "There is no other way this can end." She was seemingly unable to work up enough energy to impose much inflection on her words, speaking in a low monotone most of the time.

A few days before he wouldn't have understood what she meant - now Michael knew. He knew why she had come to him this evening, knew that she had planned it this way. Michael had found out only because she had allowed it. What he didn't know was why. Why now? Why ever?

"Why not just walk away?" he asked, knowing the answer only too well. She couldn't walk away; Janet was destructive by nature.

She shook her head ever so slightly. "It is decided. I could not save her even if I wanted to."

He didn't believe her. "It doesn't have to be this way."

Janet looked away and sighed deeply. She stared out the window for a few minutes and then, seeming to come to a decision, turned back to face him. "I owe you a debt," she said tiredly. "You may warn her if you wish."

She surprised him; Michael had not thought she would give in so easily. It was unlike Janet to do so - there would be a catch.

Janet rose and spoke again. "You have the choice. Choose, but choose wisely." She left the threat unspecified.

Janet owed him - her life and her freedom. Because of that debt, he was free to do as he wished; but it would cost him. What, he wasn't certain. She would withdraw her assistance - that was a given - but interference of this kind would merit something more punishing. If he caused her to fail, she would make him pay; Janet wasn't the type of person who let things go.

Janet moved to exit the room. At the doorway she paused and then turned back. "There are no children nowadays," she said softly, then turned and left.

Michael's blood ran cold. He listened to her retreating footsteps, echoing up the hallway.

She would do it; he knew she would. Janet didn't make idle threats. She was born a bitch.

_"There are no children nowadays."_

Janet had never been a child, never been innocent. Michael knew that now, but once he had mistaken youth for innocence; it was proving a costly error.

"It doesn't have to be this way." He wanted it to be true, but now...

Now it seemed he had no choice. Thousands would die, Nikita among them.

Thousands.

Michael had the power to save them, he believed. He didn't know if he could do it; didn't know if he wanted to do it.

Not now.

He didn't want to choose.

_I need another option._

Michael was in Janet's house - at her mercy; Di was his shadow, ever vigilant. But there was a way; Michael  _knew_  there was a way.

He could alert Nikita to the threat Janet posed without risking Adam's life. There was a way.

He just couldn't think of it.

 _THINK!_  he ordered himself.

******

There was no way it could end well for her. If Nikita succeeded, she'd end up cleaning Section's toilets. If Nikita failed, she'd either - depending on the circumstances - end up in Abeyance or dead. Quinn was leaning towards death as her preferred option, which was just as well because - in her opinion - it was also the most likely.

The mission was going exceptionally well; their teams had cut through the opposition like a hot knife through butter. They had yet to sustain a single casualty and their teams were well within the complex. Quinn felt as though she were watching a train wreck.

_All too easy._

It was a trap; it had to be. The security was limited and ill-placed; the personnel couldn't shoot straight though their lives depended upon it. Each one of them seemed to be acting alone; there was no organization, no cohesion - no plan. It just didn't fit with what Nikita had told her about Janet.

_I'm going to die here._

If she had been able to choose a way to die, this wouldn't have been it. However, there wasn't another person in the world she would rather die with than the woman beside her. Her own death was a whole lot more acceptable knowing that Nikita would be joining her in hell - Quinn was almost looking forward to it.

Nikita didn't appear to think there was a problem. Despite lecturing them all on how cunning and vile Janet was, Nikita didn't seem the least bit concerned at how easily their teams were taking the base. When Quinn dared to mention the possibility of a trap, Nikita had laughed in her face. Quinn was having doubts about Nikita's sanity - the woman was possessed.

"There's something..."

They never heard the rest of what team three's leader had to say, the transmission cut out.

Quinn had been expecting something of this sort - Nikita had not.

"What happened?" Nikita looked at Quinn accusingly.

"Transmission cut out," she replied, calm as calm can be.

Her tone appeared to annoy Nikita. "Get him back," she bit out.

Quinn tried every trick in the book and a great many that weren't - it was of no use, she hadn't expected it to be.

 _Waste of time, we should get out of here._  "Nothing I can do, it's a total system failure," Quinn said aloud.

"Does Section still have contact?" Nikita was becoming agitated.

Quinn laughed. "I'd ask but we're cut off completely."  _Told you so_ , she was tempted to add.

"Get us back up," Nikita ordered, her tone cold - her face stern and unyielding.

_I hope she dies first - I'd like to see that._

"I can't. We need to get the hell out of here," she said, though believing it was already too late.

Nikita's eyes flared, for a moment they were wild, dangerous - insane. Nikita blinked hard and her angry haze appeared to lift. "You're right. This is a trap."

_I told you so._

Nikita banged on the divider to the cab. "Let's go."

They went nowhere. Quinn pulled up the cab camera - no one was there. "On our own."

"Where the hell did he go?" Nikita demanded.

Quinn smiled. "I doubt he went willingly."

Nikita stared at her, then nodded slowly. "I'm sorry."

 _Too late now._  "What are your orders?"

Nikita handed her a weapon and grabbed another for herself. "Let's go," Nikita said, pulling the door open as she did so.

Quinn wasn't sure if Nikita's eyes were burning with confidence or insanity - somehow she doubted there was much difference under the circumstances.  _You first._  "Yes, Ma'am," she crisply responded.

Nikita raced out the door into the nearby brush, but didn't get much farther than that - she collapsed in a heap. Quinn, who against her better judgment had followed Nikita out the door, only managed a few steps before meeting a similar fate.

In the moment before the darkness took her, Quinn cursed Nikita to hell.

******

She stood in the center of Comm. watching a blank screen and wondering what the hell had gone wrong.

Communications was down - not just on Operations' mission, but every mission.

It wasn't supposed to be possible, but someone had hacked into their system and pulled the plug. Jasmine doubted the timing was coincidental; it was all part of a larger plan, one she was sure included Operations' mission.

The techs were working with a furious intensity she had never before witnessed, but they weren't moving nearly fast enough for her. Operations was very likely walking into a trap and they couldn't warn her - they couldn't even get the doors to open. They had to get back online before it was too late - if it isn't already.

"I think I've got it!" a tech optimistically stated, while Jasmine continued to stare into blackness. "God damn it!" he cursed a moment later.

More typing, rewiring, and twenty more minutes of impotence.

"Try again," he ordered.

Jasmine was still watching a blank screen - nothing.

The tech ripped out a few more wires; then jury-rigged another pathway. "What about now?"

The screens flickered to life.

"Got it!" another tech announced. "It will take a few minutes to connect," he continued, all the while typing with lightning speed.

Jasmine paced from one end of Comm. to the other, becoming increasingly nervous with each step.  _Too long. Too long._

"We're up," he said.

Jasmine couldn't see any proof of that. "Then where are they?"

He swallowed hard. "The teams are dead."

"What?" Her stomach moved up into her throat.

"No life signs - they are dead."

"Operations?" She failed to keep the desperation from her voice.

"Dead too, no wait a minute..." he trailed off.

"What?" she demanded.

"I'm not getting any readings,' he replied.

"No readings?" She considered. "Possible someone has phased out her transponders?"

"That could account for it, but then she could just as easily be dead." He shrugged.

"What about Quinn and Trent?" she asked, her heart pounding.

"Trent is dead. Quinn I have no readings for," he told her.

"You're sure the others are dead, but don't know about Quinn and Operations?"

"We'll know more when more systems are up and running," he hedged.

"Nothing on any of Operations transponders?"

"Nada on both."

_Both?_

Her heart skipped a beat. "What about the third?"

He shot her a confused look. "I wasn't aware she had another."

_Let's hope you're not the only one._

Jasmine glanced up at the Perch where Jacob stood.

"Any chance you could leave him there a little longer?"

He followed her gaze. "I'm really very busy."

Jasmine smiled. "Let's get to work."

************

He might have damned his soul to hell, but he had spared himself from living in one. Michael had made his choice; perhaps not the right one, but the only one he could live with. When it came down to it, the choice had been easy.

"Ready to go?" Janet asked, from the doorway behind him.

He turned to face her - the bringer of death, destroyer of worlds. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail; her face devoid of make-up, but fresh and full of life. She wore a pair of faded blue jeans, a fitted red T-shirt, and no shoes. She seemed vibrant, at ease - guilt free. Janet didn't look like a person about to sentence thousands to death.

She smiled - a large smile, genuine and warm - it shone in her deep green eyes.

Michael had never thought her more beautiful nor hated her more fiercely.

"Yes." His mask firmly in place.

Janet's smile dimmed a few degrees, a curious expression claimed her features. "You hate me; don't you Michael?"

"No."

She appeared puzzled by his answer. "No?" she repeated.

"No." Michael paused a moment. "I despise you."

She nodded, then cocked her head to the side. "Understandable." Her smile returned. "The horror is downstairs with Daniel."

He nodded, then moved to pass her and exit.

Janet held a hand up and he stopped.

"Did you want to see her first?"

No. Michael couldn't bear it. He didn't want to see the reproach in Nikita's eyes, didn't want her to know what he had done. He didn't want to explain that to Janet either. He shook his head.

She smiled wanly. "Very well." Janet reached into her jeans pocket, removed a vial of clear fluid, and held it out to him. "Put this in Adam's next meal."

He took the vial. "What is it?" He knew what she would say.

"The antidote."

He carefully placed it inside his jacket pocket. "Insurance?"

"Nemo me impune la cessit,"  _(No one provokes me with impunity,)_  she paused. "You made the right decision Michael. Section had an army; Adam had you."

He remained silent.

"The horror awaits you."

"Adam grows on you," Michael defended his son.

"I don't like children period," Janet told him seriously. "Luckily for me, I can't have children." The admission did not appear to concern her.

Michael couldn't think of what to say.

Janet spared him the effort. "Turns out there's only so much you can do with sticky tape." She pointedly looked at her wristwatch. "Time to go."

"Goodbye Janet."

"Goodbye Michael. I do not think we will meet again."

Janet turned, and left the room without a backward glance. Michael watched her go. He stood, unmoving, in the room for a few minutes and then went downstairs to find his son.

"You missed Janet," Adam announced upon seeing his father.

"We spoke upstairs," Michael told him.

Adam seemed slightly annoyed at the news. "Oh," was all he offered.

A harassed looking Daniel stepped forward and offered Michael his hand. "It was a pleasure." Daniel smiled brightly.

Michael shook his hand, but said nothing.

"I've something for you," Daniel continued.

The only response, an eyebrow raised in question.

Daniel retrieved two boxes from a table near the door, and handed them to Michael. "A chess set, board and pieces, all handcrafted."

"Thank you," he said, deciding some response was needed.

Daniel grinned. "You need the practice."

"My dad's good at chess," Adam piped up, seemingly insulted. Adam had taken an instant dislike to Daniel.

_Proof he has some sense._

Daniel looked down on Adam and smiled widely. "I'm better, and Janet could kick both our asses."

Adam glared at Daniel, saying nothing.

"You're a delight Adam," Daniel said sarcastically.

"Whatever," Adam replied.

"Time to go. Thank Daniel, Adam," he commanded, shooting his son a stern look.

"Thanks Daniel," Adam said, none too sincerely.

"You are  _quite_  welcome," Daniel responded in the same spirit.

They all went down to the car; Daniel opened the door for them.

"Take care," Daniel said.

Adam jumped in the car, poking his tongue out at Daniel on the way.

"I just love ten year olds," Daniel said, deadpan.

Michael followed his son into the car.

Daniel shut the door and the driver pulled away from the steps.

As they drove down the driveway towards their new life Michael turned back to watch the house growing smaller. Somewhere within was the woman he had once loved - still loved. Michael was leaving her, and inside that house she would die.

He had had an opportunity to prevent it - he believed - and did not.

He had been unable to think of an option that did not put his son at risk - he could not risk his son. His courage failed him, failed them all.

Because of Michael's failure - his selfishness - she would die, and thousands would follow her.

Michael looked down into Adam's deep brown eyes and smiled.

Nikita would die.

He would mourn her passing; he would mourn the deaths of those who followed her.

But he would not regret his choice.


	3. Chapter 3

She often drank, but rarely to the excess she was currently. Over the years, Janet had lectured him on the importance of maintaining discipline and focus. She had told him that Section would have been destroyed years before if people had been a little more careful, taken a little more time, been a little smarter.

Janet had impressed upon him the need to remain alert; to wait until after you had destroyed the enemy to celebrate - like the old adage "Don't count your chickens..." And yet, here she was, on the eve of their greatest victory, knocking back scotch - quickly approaching intoxication.

He sat on the other side of her ancient desk, and watched her drink, growing increasingly uncomfortable as she rode an alcohol high. Daniel had no idea how much she had consumed, but looking at the half-empty bottle, he decided she was liberal when pouring.

"I think you've had enough."

"Why would you say that?" Her tone light - her expression alternating between puzzled and amused.

"Because any minute now, you intend to regale me with that damn elephant joke." He couldn't help smiling as she laughed happily in response.

"It is a classic! I don't know why you hate it so." Light danced in her eyes, defeating her attempt at looking sad.

He knew it was coming, knew he could do nothing to stop her; still, he hoped God would give him a break and send a bolt of lightning his way.

No.

Such.

Luck.

"Why did the elephant cross the road?" She was laughing before the punch line - if one could call it that.

He couldn't see the point in answering.

"Because he didn't like the chicken." She laughed a little louder.

Daniel cringed. Like the rest of the civilized world, he didn't see the joke.

Regaining control, she said, "I'm a comic genius!"

"Where was the comedy in that?" he dryly replied.

"Oh come on! It's hilarious! And I made it up at the young age of two!" She didn't pull off the shocked look she so obviously was aiming for - one cannot look shocked while grinning like a madwoman.

"We shall have to agree to disagree." He grinned back at her.

"Richard thought it was funny," she informed him as she headed to the bar.

"Do you have a point?" He watched her pour two glasses - straight up - with a surprisingly steady hand.  _Perhaps she hasn't drunk quite as much as I thought?_

 _Or maybe she's drunk a little more!_  He amended the thought, as she tripped over her own feet on the way back. In the way of all true drunks, she managed to avoid spilling a drop of alcohol as she fell flat on her ass. He stood and helped her up.

"Why, thank you, kind sir."

Taking the glass she held out to him he reclaimed his seat. "Now I'm sure you've had enough." Still, he made no attempt to confiscate her glass. He quickly downed his -  _no point being the only one sober_  - then got up and retrieved the bottle.

While she moved on to Englishman/Scotsman/Irishman jokes - of which she knew a great deal too many - he drowned in alcohol, knocking them back in quick succession. The alcohol suffused through his body, spreading warmth from head to toe and erasing most of his discomfort.

After what felt like her hundredth joke, she wiped the tears from her eyes and looked at him appraisingly. "You hate my jokes."

"They're not so much jokes, as torture."

She laughed loudly, her eyes dancing with amusement, but then she stopped suddenly, the life seemingly leaching from her face. He thought at first she was going to throw-up, but she made no move to grab the rubbish bin or rush to the toilet. She sat motionless in her chair and stared off into space, seeming to search for some answers in the pattern of the floor carpet.

He watched, transfixed, as the light died in her eyes and the temperature around them seemed to drop a few degrees. She came back to him then, back from wherever it was she went on these occasions.

He did not know what had happened to her in those few brief moments, but it seemed to him that all the joy in her had died.

"In the entire world, you are the only person I consider to be my friend." She seemed completely sober now.

"I'm honored." He smiled kindly, while hoping for another of her dreary jokes. As much as he found "Janet the comic genius" uncomfortable to deal with, he found "Janet the morose" more so.

"What do you think that says about me?" She looked at him intently, as though his answer was the most consequential thing in the history of the world.

"You have impeccable taste." He kept his tone light, wanting to kill the conversation there.

She laughed softly, but it didn't sound real. "What would I do without you?"

"I sincerely hope you never find out," he chuckled and was rewarded with a soft smile.

Janet studied the carpet again, and then the sadness seemed to lift; the light, however, did not return to her eyes. Of the three, this was the Janet he preferred - her apathy was strangely comforting. He knocked back his scotch. "Another?"

"I've had enough."

************

It chilled through her skin and settled in every vital organ; a shaft of ice drove its way down the length of her spine, rooting her to the spot. Though for her an uncommon emotion, she recognized it at once.

Fear.

She was petrified; so afraid, that the simple process of opening a door seemed impossibly difficult - the type of activity one would die attempting. What frightened her most was the certain knowledge that her fear was rational - her primitive brain screaming at her: survival lay in flight.

Behind the door: hardship, pain and despair. The door was her shield; fling it aside and she would face her own personal nightmare. For the first time in her life, she considered walking away.

_Turn around. Go back up the corridor. Take the lift to the ground floor. Walk out the door, down the steps. Get in your car and go. Drive away. Never look back._

No one would stop her, not the men behind her and not the guards outside. No one. She could go; she could escape. Or, she could stay; she could walk through the door.

Salvation was an island in the Pacific Ocean, with hot white sand, crystal blue waters, and few neighbors. It was the place where recovery was possible - if not likely; the place without a memory where even Janet Helene Baldacci might forget. She might regain what was lost, be the person she imagined she could have been. She might find contentment - there she might live.

After ten years worth of blood and sweat she had earned it; after twenty-six years of pain and suffering Janet deserved it. She had gone as far as she wished to go. Someone else could finish it. Yes, it would take them longer, but they would succeed - eventually. It wasn't her problem; she didn't need the responsibility. She needed to go, start a new life while she still could; rejoice in doing nothing.

Janet felt his hand on her shoulder, a familiar gesture of concern. He had sensed her unease, was wondering at her hesitation. His touch was a source of unbearable pain - excruciating, unendurable. The warmth that bled from his hand, through her clothing and into the cool skin of her shoulder, served to remind Janet of how completely her past had obliterated whatever future had been possible.

_No such things as happy endings._

Janet felt the sob as a constriction in her chest; she fought it down and reached for the door handle. Her hand shook, the act of rebellion too weak to prevent her fingers clasping around the deathly cold steel. The door swung open with barely a sound, as though it knew what was to come and had no wish to be a party to it.

Janet entered the room, not with assurance, but with a listless acceptance of an immutable fact - after this, there was nothing but oblivion. She knew it. She believed it.

She smiled with perfect insincerity, every muscle in rigid control. "Hello Nikita. So sorry to have kept you waiting."

The blonde did not reply, but Nikita's eyes were so full of hate, they shone.

Janet wondered what it was like to hate someone that much, what it was like to be so invested.

"I don't believe I introduced my assistants when last we met." She waved a hand at each of the men that had followed her into the room. "Industrious as you are, you've discovered Daniel's identity; allow me to introduce Karl Dayton. Karl, say hello to Ms Nikita Wirth."

Neither Karl nor Nikita bothered exchanging greetings.

"Now that we are all acquainted, shall we get down to business?" Janet asked in a carefully controlled voice.

"Torture or death?" Nikita asked in a bored tone, with matching expression.

The boredom was manufactured - as cultivated as Janet's own smile.

"We are foregoing the torture this time. I do intend to kill you, but not quite yet," she answered.

"Why the wait?" Nikita continued in the same bored tone.

Daniel intervened. "She's not yet come up with an elaborate, but easily escapable death trap; though she downed some very fine scotch in pursuit of it."

 _And had one very fine hangover this morning,_  she didn't add.

"I prefer vodka," Nikita stated, dropping the bored tone.

A brief flit of laughter escaped Janet's throat. "De gustibus non est diputandum - there is no disputing about tastes." She moved further into the room and took a seat on the unoccupied bed across from the one upon which Nikita sat. Sitting straight-backed upon the edge, she turned slightly towards the door so that she could observe every person in the room.

Daniel and Karl stood either side of the still open door. Daniel's eyes were twinkling with amusement; Karl looked puzzled, she shot him a questioning look.

"Escapable death trap?" Karl identified the source of his confusion.

Daniel took over again. "All the great villains - in this case that's Janet, place the hapless hero - Nikita here - in elaborate but easily escapable death traps." He paused a moment. "Usually after they have disclosed their diabolical plan to attain world domination." He winked at her.

Janet found herself distracted, no longer dwelling on what was to be; she was enjoying herself.

"You haven't told me your plan for world domination yet," Nikita obliged by pointing out.

Janet released an exaggerated sigh, getting into character. "I'm bereft of one I'm afraid - not very villainy, I know."  _Is villainy a word? Hmmm._

Nikita smiled; it appeared forced. Janet returned it, full wattage.

"So what now?" Nikita asked, sounding pleasant enough.

"I thought we might chat," Janet responded.

"Chat?" Nikita repeated, incredulous. "About what exactly?" Blue eyes narrowed.

"Life, hyenas, the World Series - whatever you wish." Janet really didn't care.

"I really thought the Dodgers would do it this year." Nikita stated.

She smiled warmly. "They didn't have a hope in hell."

Nikita's eyes flashed. "You'd know of course."

"What is it like to hate someone so much?" Janet surprised herself by asking.

"It burns." Nikita appeared equally surprised to have answered.

They stared at each other in silence for a few moments.

"Why are you the way you are?" Nikita questioned.

Janet couldn't find the energy to lie. "Because I lived, Nikita. Because I was sent to the darkest of places and survived." She gave no details, because she knew Nikita had no wish to hear them. She was the enemy and Nikita needed to hate her - pity was a weakness.

"You murder people." Nikita's contempt was palpable.

 _Et tu, Nikita?_  "I play to win and will do all that is necessary to that end." She always had, and she always would.

"You torture people," Nikita asserted.

"When necessary - I take no pleasure in it."

"Why was it necessary to torture me?" Nikita's face was impassive, but there was a bitterness in her tone.

"I needed you to hate me," Janet replied, keeping her tone even.

"You said it was to discover what kind of leader I was," Nikita reminded her.

"Yes, I lied." She was calmness personified.

"You do that a lot," Nikita snapped.

"Why do you think I tortured you?" she asked, genuinely interested in what Nikita would say.

"You're a sadist," Nikita spat out.

"An awful lot of trouble for kicks." Janet paused. "Was your performance hampered by my actions?"

"No," Nikita quickly replied.

"You destroyed Red Cell."

Nikita appeared calm. "Yes."

"All by yourself?" Janet asked.

"With Section." Nikita looked weary.

"No one else?"

"No." Nikita was definitive.

"How very ungrateful you are." Janet smiled, showing lots of white teeth, but no warmth.

Nikita didn't reply.

"I gave Michael the information he sent you," she added.

Nikita laughed.

"You don't believe me?" Janet continued calmly.

"Why would I? You want to destroy Section."

"Yes, and I will. But at that time, I needed Section to survive."

Nikita looked at her as though she was certain Janet was insane. "What?"

"It's rather difficult to pin the blame on an organization that's already been destroyed."

"Blame for what?" Nikita looked puzzled.

"The destruction of Meyer's group, Black Order, for example."

"That happened before we destroyed Red Cell." Nikita pointed out.

"But after our first meeting." She reminded the blonde.

Nikita blinked, hard.

She could almost see the progression of Nikita's thoughts.

"Why did you destroy them?" Nikita asked after a few moments of silence.

"It was a convenient way of plugging leaks." Which was true, but not the whole truth.  _I was once Meyer's "guest"_ ; Janet didn't add.

Nikita made the leap. "Jason."

"Yes," Janet nodded.

"You killed him." Low and deadly.

"Yes."

"After you tortured him." Nikita's voice had risen.

"How else was I to confirm his information?"

Nikita moved quickly, but not nearly quickly enough - Daniel there in an instant. He slammed the blonde into the ground; he didn't hesitate to kick Nikita while she was down, doing so more than once. When he appeared confident that Nikita wasn't going to try anything else, he moved back to his position by the door - leaving Nikita to cough up blood on the concrete floor.

"It wasn't personal. He suffered no longer than was necessary," Janet didn't know why she bothered with such empty words; they would be of little comfort to Nikita.

Nikita didn't respond, though her breathing had returned to normal.

Janet waved a hand in Karl's direction and he immediately moved forward, picked up the blonde and deposited her back on the bed.

Nikita said nothing for a long time; then finally, speaking very softly. "You're a monster."

Janet smiled. "No, Nikita - I'm not."

_Not yet anyway._

_Not yet..._

************

Hugging the ground, she crept slowly forward. At the edge of the tree line she stopped and bringing a pair of goggles to her eyes scanned the area. All seemed peaceful, looked perfectly normal; but looks were deceiving. Less than a mile before her goggled eyes lay the residence of Janet Baldacci; within its walls, Section One's Operations was being held captive.

_Not for long._

Jasmine zoomed in on the western end of the property, searching for the guard she knew to be there. He was barely visible, blending almost seamlessly into the background, but she found him nevertheless.

After watching the property for the better part of two days, she was fairly certain she had located each and every one of the perimeter forces. There were no more than twenty patrolling at any given time; currently there were only fourteen, including the five guards stationed on the roof of the main house.

From all reports, Janet's security systems were no better than those of her wealthy neighbors - small army aside. The woman appeared to place more value on appearances than actual security, with the fewest number of guards working during daylight hours. That was not to imply the property was unsecured.

_Far from it._

Though relatively few in number, the guards appeared to be highly disciplined, extremely well equipped, alert, and cleverly positioned. To reach the main house where Operations was being held, Section operatives would need to cross the length of two football fields of flat open ground, under the ever watchful gaze of five guards equipped with the armory of a small country. The property was secure against such attack - they had as much chance of taking it that way as elephants had of flying.

Their ability to acquire this type of target was the reason they were the most covert anti terrorist agency in the world - that, a healthy budget and freedom from obeying inconvenient laws. Today they would break at least twenty of those laws.

Having ensured her target was where he was supposed to be, she removed her goggles and keyed her mike once - receiving some static in acknowledgement. Jasmine watched the blue sky through the covering branches, searching for something she had no earthly chance of seeing.

She sat on the damp earth, staring up at the clear sky for what felt to her an eternity.  _What's taking so long?_

A series of loud explosions came in answer. Her eyes, which had failed to sight the planes, had no difficulty detecting the dense black smoke, emanating from the roof of the main house.

She leapt to her feet, fixed her gas mask firmly over her face, pulled her goggles back over her eyes - adjusted the tracking to normal, drew her gun and raced across the grounds. No rain of bullets was forthcoming and she thanked her lucky stars, before deciding the bombs might bear a greater responsibility.

She reached the position where she'd previously sighted the western defender; at the same time she heard a smattering of gunfire from the southeast. It ended quickly, and the western defender was covering too much ground to be among the living - she ignored both. Jasmine keyed her mike once more and headed for her assigned entry point.

She reached the door at the same time Simon strolled up, minus his gas mask. "Enjoy the fireworks?" he offered with an accompanying smirk.

He appeared a touch disheveled; Jasmine decided he'd seen a little action. She removed her gas mask, but didn't bother responding. She examined the door using each setting on her goggles while Simon scanned the area, his back to her.

"All clear," she announced. "Where are the others?" she inquired while fixing a charge to the door's lock.

He shrugged non-committally. "They'll be along."

She shot an irritated look at his back, stepped to the side and detonated the explosives - blowing the door wide open.

Cassidy and Mitchell appeared, looking a little worse for wear. Mitchell handed Simon a gas mask remarking, "Think you dropped this mate."

Simon surprised her by thanking the man.  _Will wonders never cease?_  "Where are Kevin and Lore?" Jamine asked the newcomers.

"Don't know about Lore, but Kevin took one in the head," Mitchell answered, somehow managing to contain his grief. "I've got his gear," he added.

Jasmine felt a burst of anger and put it to use, tossing a gas canister through the open door. She pulled her gas mask back on and followed the canister inside.  _Forget about them. Operations is in here, she's alive. For now. Keep moving._

She saw movement up ahead. She fired.

So did they.

******

Though Janet's smile didn't waver when the sound of explosions reached them, a glance in Karl's direction sent him from the room.

Nikita didn't need to force a smile. "Trouble?"

"Not at all," Janet muttered, somehow remaining calm.

"Sounded like an explosion," Nikita helpfully advised.

Janet dropped the smile. "It was a series of explosions, emanating from the roof." She looked up at the ceiling and continued, "Probably five explosions."

"Why five?"

"There were five guards on the roof. I would imagine your friends took care of the perimeter guards at the same time." Janet didn't seem too upset.

Nikita found Janet's enduring calmness irritating; even with gunfire sounding in the house, Janet didn't appear agitated.

 _That will change;_  she consoled herself. Janet hadn't even bothered to get Daniel to close the door; when Section's forces arrived, they would find it all too easy.

"Doesn't sound good. Perhaps you should surrender," she suggested in a pleasant tone.

Janet and Daniel exchanged an amused look.

_Am I missing something, or are these two crazy?_

"Nikita. If you had to kill one person in order to destroy me, would you have done it?" Janet asked, green eyes intense.

She considered it. "One for the thousand you would kill? Yes."  _Of course I would._

Janet nodded. "And if you had to kill a thousand?"

 _Would I?_  Nikita thought perhaps she might, but she didn't feel inclined to tell Janet that. The brunette was going somewhere with this, she wasn't certain where; it was better to remain silent.

Janet smiled. "What about a million? Do you hate me that much?" Janet's eyes clung to Nikita's face.

 _A million?_  "No," Nikita quickly replied, but she wasn't entirely certain.

Janet's smile widened. "If I hadn't intervened the first time, Section would have fallen; you were running it into the ground. Hate is a powerful tool Nikita - it gave you the strength you required."

"You are wasted on terrorism, you should have been a comedian," she replied.

Janet turned her gaze on Daniel. "Hear that? She thinks I'm funny."

"She's hardly discerning," he replied.

Janet pouted. "I have feelings you know."

Daniel laughed, "I hadn't noticed."

Nikita was puzzled by the exchange; on the surface it appeared light-hearted, but she couldn't help but think she was missing something. She felt it in her bones.

"I overestimated her," Janet was telling Daniel.

He shrugged. "It happens."

Janet nodded and turned back to face Nikita.

For the briefest of moments, Janet's deep green eyes appeared consumed with sadness - Nikita saw it, but doubted Daniel had.

Only when the beeping began did Nikita realize the gunfire had stopped.

Janet held the beeper in her hand, reading the code. The brunette sighed deeply. "Time's up."

To Janet's credit she didn't seem the least bit happy.

"Thought of something easily escapable?" Nikita asked in a surprisingly calm tone of voice.

Janet smiled wanly. "Only if you can dodge bullets." The brunette stood, pulling a gun from inside her jacket.

Nikita found her feet - if this was it, she would die standing.

The gun came up. From the corner of her eye, Nikita saw Daniel move to block the doorway.

"I'll see you in hell," Nikita intoned - she had always wanted to say it.

Janet nodded. Her green gaze shifted, her smile fading - she tried to hold on to the edges of it, but her lips quivered with the effort. "Xin loi," * she said clearly.

Nikita followed Janet's gaze.

The blast was deafening; it bounced off the walls to assault her eardrums. Nikita watched in shocked silence as blood blossomed from an open wound in Daniel's chest. He seemed suspended in air - eyes widened in shock; then, as his legs went out from under him, he crumbled - losing his precious hold on life.

Nikita's eyes flew back to Janet.

The brunette's gaze was fixed on Daniel. The gun hung limp in her right hand, barrel pointing at the floor. Her eyes closed tightly, as though Janet was attempting to hide from what she had seen; a single tear traced a line down her cheek.

Nikita noticed all this as she moved forward to take the gun.

Janet's eyes snapped open; the gun coming up quickly - too quickly - Nikita was still too far away. She turned to the doorway, desperate for assistance.

No one was there.

Only then did Nikita understand. Janet had killed him. "Why?" she asked shocked.

Had she spoken one second earlier or later, Janet would have shot her dead, but Nikita had timed her question well; it came at the precise moment Janet was willing, and perhaps even needing, to explain. The gun lowered slightly.

"He deserves better," Janet said; her voice modulated, seemingly calm. Her face stern - unyielding - but her eyes were weak, guilt, despair, misery, and rage all vying for supremacy within them.

 _Keep her talking._  "Than what?" Nikita asked, moving ever so slightly forward.

"Than what awaited him," Janet spoke entirely without inflection, her eyes unblinking.

Nikita stepped closer, if given opportunity she would be able to clasp the gun with one more step. "What awaited him?" she asked softly.

The brunette's eyes grew weary and the gun rose. "The destroyer of worlds." Janet blinked then, and when her eyes reopened she appeared dead inside. It was with a steady hand that Janet pulled the trigger.

Something like an egg cracked open upon Nikita's forehead, and then her head burned; her world slowed and the floor rose up to greet her.

In the harsh light of impending death, Nikita reviewed her life, her choices, and herself. She found each flawed, found each wanting. She spent her final moments upon the earth condemned to a hell of her own creation - she relived every failure, examined every flaw.

Every second was an eternity of pain, suffering, and anguish.

Nikita had the misfortune to live another thirty.

 

 

 

* _Xin loi - I'm sorry._

************

She had awoken not in some hellish afterlife or blissful paradise - but within nausea's embrace, in a sparsely decorated room, lying upon a particularly uncomfortable bed. The nausea abated; no demons came to claim her and no angels serenaded her with their harps. Quinn came to the conclusion that she remained a resident in purgatory - she had lived.

Her first days passed slowly; one boring hour blending into the next, watching the minutes pass on the wristwatch her captors had kindly left her. The cell was a three meters square space - no windows, one door - crammed with a bed (bolted to the wall), a desk (bolted to the floor), a chair, a toilet, a small basin, and what one could charitably call a shower.

Her only contact to the outside world was through a slot in the door. Through the slot, she daily received clean clothing and towels, three meals of hospital standard, bottled water, and any necessities - such as toilet paper and soap - that were required. If she placed her dirty dishes, clothing, and towels in front of the slot, they were removed; if she did not, they remained in her cell. No one came in; no one spoke to her.

The first two weeks were spent staring at her watch, eating, exercising in the small space available, or sleeping - there was nothing else to do. Every evening - at precisely 10:00 PM - the lights began to dim, slowing fading till 11:00 PM - when darkness reigned. At 6:00 AM the lights were turned back on, gradually gaining intensity; by 7:00 AM they were up to full power. She thought it was a rather kind gesture.

After two weeks alone she was starving for human contact, bored out of her wits. On the 16th day of her captivity, she received four books with her breakfast. Each was an exceedingly thick tome on the psychology of the human species - she finished them all by the week's end.

The very next day she received another four, five days later she received ten tomes of varying subjects: medicine, mathematics, hunting, geology, chemistry, weapons, military tactics, martial arts, logic and ethics.

Quinn had never read more in her life.

******

It wasn't over, but it soon would be.

Before her, six men, each worthy of a special place in hell; she felt not the slightest bit of fear. When the first offered his hand, the one that met it was steady enough for surgery. When the second kissed each of her cheeks, her plastered-on smile did not slip. When the third bowed, she bent not a single degree too far when returning it. When the fourth coughed in her face, she did not flinch and when the fifth came forward, she slit his throat in one clean action. Then - drenched in his blood - she calmly inclined her head in greeting to the sixth, before offering each remaining man a seat.

Janet felt not a single measure of fear.

Two female assistants entered, bringing refreshments for the men and a towel for her.

One of the men - Hand - was so subtle as to glance in the direction of the twitching body before pushing his drink away. The others simply ignored theirs; in a show of solidarity, she ignored her towel.

"Thank you ladies; have Richard come in please," she spoke in a low monotone that fit nicely with her blood-caked appearance.

They nodded and left.

Richard had to have been waiting by the door as he entered almost immediately. He visibly paled when he saw her; his eyes quickly surveyed the room and when he sighted the body, he shuddered in comprehension.

"Set up, Richard," she instructed, motioning towards the seat beside hers.

He managed to move the few paces required and took the seat. He opened his laptop and a few minutes later muttered that he was ready. Richard had never enjoyed the sight of blood; he kept his eyes on his screen.

"We are ready for the transfer," she announced.

Hand found his voice. "I think an explanation is in order."

She smiled, or rather, grinned maniacally. "Regarding?"

"Our lately departed colleague," he replied.

She dropped the grin. "He betrayed my Uncle to his death." She added some heat for effect.

Hand paused, considering. "I wasn't aware of that."

"Now you are." She maintained eye contact.

He nodded slowly. "Now I am." Then almost as an afterthought, he said, "He was a great man, your Uncle."

"Yes, he was," she responded softly. "If that is all?" She swept her eyes around the room, no one else appeared to have a problem. "Richard will confirm the transfers."

"How can we be certain you have what you claim?" asked Cheek.

"You wouldn't be here if you believed I was lying." Even with the blood, she thought she appeared reasonable.

"I want some proof." Bow backed up Cheek.

"Proof costs money." She smiled, showing lots of teeth.

"How much money?" asked Hand, rightly suspicious.

"20 billion dollars." She aimed for sweet.

"You can't be serious." Cough was shocked into speaking.

"20 billion for your proof - the rest you may have for free."

Nod laughed loudly, seemingly amused. The others waited for him to quiet down before continuing their campaign.

"Would you be more flexible if we broke your fingers?" Cheek politely inquired.

She had expected the threats to start earlier and be much more inventive. She caught Cheek's gaze and curled the fingers of her right hand around the little finger of her left. She snapped the finger back, breaking it with a sickening cracking sound - in her peripheral vision she saw Richard jump. "I shouldn't think so," she said in a calm, even tone.

It wasn't difficult to keep the pain from her voice; what was difficult was keeping the surprise from her face - it hadn't actually hurt. She'd felt it all right, the burning, the sharpness, but it was merely sensation - neither painful nor pleasant.

Nod started clapping. "Very well done."

"I'd like my money now." She kept her tone pleasant.

Aside from Nod, they all shot her murderous looks, perhaps hoping she'd drop dead. When that didn't happen, they obediently slipped out their cell phones and made their calls; Nod cheerfully followed their calls with one of his own.

"Confirmed," Richard muttered, still glued to his screen.

"Excellent!" She theatrically clapped her hands. "Your people should now have the means to destroy the Sections - or rather, they will have in 25 hours, when I send them the decryption code."

Nod broke out in a fresh gale of laughter, drowning out the others' threats.

"Should my money disappear, or should I die an untimely death in the next 25 hours, you won't get the code and the files will self-destruct."

They stopped yelling.

"If you need to make another phone call, please do so now."

Hand and Bow quickly complied; Nod continued laughing and Cheek looked embarrassed enough to convince her he hadn't even thought about it.

"A toast!" said Nod.

She smiled widely; he'd saved her some trouble. She hit the intercom. "Champagne."

Less than a minute later, the women returned carrying a bottle and glasses. She motioned towards Hand, and they took it to him. "If you'd be so kind?" she directed at him.

He took the bottle and carefully examined it. Deciding it was acceptable, he opened it with a flourish and poured each of them a glass.

She stood, sculled hers back and then held it out to be refilled. Holding up her second glass, she made her toast. "To the end of the world."

"Hear! Hear!" Nod affirmed before gulping down the alcohol.

Richard looked as though he could do with something stronger, but drank it all the same.

Cheek, Bow and Hand each took a small sip - it was more than enough. In a little over a year, it would begin; if they were lucky they would die quickly. Death would not be coming as a friend.

Business concluded they wasted no time in leaving - none other than Nod offered a farewell; she wished him luck in return.

"That went well," she observed to Richard.

"You should go clean up, so we can leave," he said, still not looking at her. "Why did you have to kill him anyhow?"

"He doesn't drink," she said, crossing the room to the adjoining bathroom.

"Weren't they suspicious?"

"I told them he betrayed my Uncle," she informed him, stripping off her bloody clothes.

"Did he?" he asked, as though the answer was important.

"Of course not - I did." Silence greeted this statement. "Tell Di to send in the cleaning crew," she ordered, entering the shower.

The blood was stubborn - clinging to her flesh - it took some time to remove it all. When she had, she quickly toweled off and dressed in the clean clothing someone had left out for her.

When she returned to the office, cleaning was well underway - Di supervising from a corner. Richard was inspecting a crack in the far wall, conveniently close to an exit.

"No more blood," she announced, coming up behind him.

He turned to inspect her. "Much better."

"Got everything?"

He patted his laptop. "All in here."

"Good. Let's go."

Richard didn't need any more encouragement. He turned to leave; he was reaching for the door handle when she plunged the needle into his neck. It was over before he even realized what was happening - his death quick, if not exactly painless.

She picked up his laptop and handed it to Di, who had come to stand beside her. "Give it to the woman in 204, with my compliments. Once I've left, see her safely on her way."

Di nodded and left through an exit on the other side of the room.

When the other woman had disappeared, she pulled the door as far open as Richard's body allowed, and slipped out into the reception area. As expected, they were waiting for her. "Henry. Elizabeth. It is a pleasure to finally meet you both."

Each smiled widely in response.

Janet felt no fear.

******

Things had worked out better than expected. Not only was Nikita dead, but so were her most ardent supporters - Janet had done exceptionally well. Too well. Section One's new Operations would have to take care of her.

Of course, they need to appoint  _him_  first; which was why they were meeting again so soon.

This time, however, there were additions to their numbers - namely the three operatives currently in charge of Center and the leaders of the other Sections.

It made him somewhat uneasy having every member of the leadership in one place at the same time; but it could not be helped. They were in the most secure location available - 500 meters beneath the earth - surrounded by the best operatives Section had to offer. Nothing had been left to chance.

 _Well - almost nothing_ , he amended.

Heavy fog in San Francisco meant that Sue's arrival would be delayed - indefinitely. She would be arriving late, if at all. Luckily, there was no need to wait for her; she had already announced her intention to support his candidate who was - incidentally - completely loyal to him.

"Shall we begin?" he asked pleasantly - he could afford to be pleasant.

"Sue has yet to arrive," Masters pointed out, no longer quite so arrogant.

"She has instructed us to proceed without her; I already have her vote." He smiled brightly.

Masters opened his mouth to object, but then seemed to think better of it.

_Not as crazy as you make out, are you?_

In truth the meeting wasn't necessary; Curtis had already ensured he would win the vote.

 _Might even be unanimous, considering the change of fortunes._  He had been proven correct; it was unlikely anyone would oppose him. Especially now, just after Center had appointed him Chairman of Oversight.

He smiled widely; smiling came easily to him these days. "All those in favor?"

He counted hands.

"Opposed?"

Not a one.

"Abstentions?"

Johnson.

He was victorious and, with the election of his candidate, he would be unstoppable.

_It doesn't get any better than this._

******

It was to be her final assignment; once completed, she would be free.

Her fingers flew over the laptop's keyboard; she felt alive for the first time in years. Six to be exact. That was how long she had lived alone, with her grief and regrets.  _Six years without him._

Actually, it had been longer - she'd been without him eight years. The first two had been her fault; she accepted that. She had hurt him deeply, tossed aside his love - as though it meant nothing - and lost him.

The first two were her fault; these last six were not.

Tears burned in her eyes; she wiped them away, but more followed. Now was not the time for grief; now was the time for revenge - she needed to focus.

 _I have to succeed._  Tears blurred her vision, jumbling the code on the screen.

"I have to focus," she repeated to herself out loud.

 _I tossed aside his love as though it meant nothing._  It had meant everything. He was everything, but she had only discovered that when it was too late.

_NO._

_Not too late - not till **Them**._

She might have had the opportunity to set things right. She might have earned his forgiveness; given time, she might have won back his love.

_Time they took from me. From us._

She angrily wiped away the tears, clearing her vision.

With the codes Janet had provided, she once again sailed through every security measure. In no time at all, she was deep in the system, able to access every level in the enemy camp. She knew what to look for and found it quickly.

 _Gotcha!_  "So very predictable," she mumbled to herself, as she accessed the appropriate system. Her fingers danced over the keys with a life all their own.

Finally, she finished; the code was complete.

It was right. She knew it. She believed it. And yet, she hesitated.

 _It's not just them; there are others,_  She reminded herself. Did she have the right to decide those others' fates as well?

Too bad, if she didn't. Her hate for them was all consuming, a hunger that could only be quenched with blood. Theirs would cleanse her of her hatred; only if they died, would she have the chance of a future.

_I wanted the chance to earn his forgiveness and they took him from ME._

She had wanted that chance; she took this one.

She hit enter. Though the laptop offered only a beeping acknowledgement of her success, in her mind, Gail watched them burn.

******

53 days after she was captured, Quinn was awakened with a sharp jab to her ribs.

"Get up," a cold voice ordered.

She opened her eyes; it was still dark.

Another sharp jab. "Follow me."

Quinn watched the darkened figure walk out the door; she jumped to her feet and rushed out after him. She found herself in a long, dark corridor that appeared to stretch out forever in both directions. There was movement on her left, she went that way.

"Try to keep up," the man said.

Above her a light blinked on; it was weak, casting a pool of light no more than a meter in diameter. Along the corridor, a number of others blinked to life - spots of light at regular intervals. Up ahead, her mysterious guide passed through a shard of light, allowing her a brief glimpse of a tall, well built imposing frame with dark brown hair sprinkled with grey. He marched through the pool of light and appeared in another further along, disappearing completely in the hanging darkness between.

Quinn quickened her pace.

Along the left side of the corridor there were doors; each appeared no different than her door, each resided in a pool of light - she counted them as she passed. On the right side, there didn't appear to be anything, but she couldn't be certain.

He left one pool of light and did not appear in the next. She stopped. Where the hell?

"Hurry up," he said.

Quinn moved cautiously forward, following the sound of his voice. She discovered another corridor to the right. When she entered, another set of lights came on as the lights in the first corridor went out.

He was five pools ahead - she ran.

After weaving through another six corridors, she lost her bearings. If the man decided to abandon her, she would never find her way out.

At length, her guide stopped in a pool of light and waited for her to catch up. When she came up beside him, he took her arm and entering the next span of darkness, led her to a door. He opened it and pushed her through.

She came out into a well-lit corridor. It was a relief. It appeared warm and inviting; the same could not be said of her guide who looked positively sour.

"Someone will come." He disappeared behind the door.

Quinn didn't have to wait long; barely a minute later a tall wiry man came striding towards her. She was surprised. "Simon?"

He smiled brightly. "How you doing?"

"What are you doing here?" Quinn suddenly thought she would have been more at ease back in the dark corridors.

"I work here," he replied.

"You work for terrorists?"  _Bastard!_

"Hardly," he said as though he found her deeply amusing. "Enjoy the tunnels?" he asked pleasantly.

"Not particularly," she mumbled.  _What the hell is going on?_

"Be glad they turned the lights on, they usually don't."

"They?" she tried to sound neutral.

"Henry and Elizabeth's personnel."

 _Henry and Elizabeth? Surely not..._  "You don't mean..."

Simon cut her off; "They are really quite lovely when you get to know them - wicked senses of humor."

 _I'm in the twilight zone._  "I'll take your word for it."

He grinned. "No need, we work quite closely with them."

" _We?_ "

"You and me, honey buns." He pointed down the corridor, "Shall we?" Simon didn't wait, just started walking.

"What is it  _we_  do?" Quinn asked when she had caught up.

"I run Psych Ops - when you finish your training you'll help me."

" _You_  run Psych Ops?"

"I'm not as dumb as I look." He winked at her.

"And how am  _I_  supposed to help  _you_?" she asked, curious.

"You'll be my Second," he said.

" _Your_  Second?"

"You are going to be a barrel of laughs, I can just tell." He stopped outside a pair of double doors.

"Are we in Section?" Quinn didn't think so, but decided to ask anyway.

"Nope. Section doesn't exist anymore, nor does Oversight. Nikita is dead. Jacob is dead, pretty much everyone is dead," he said seriously.

"Nikita is  _dead_?" Quinn repeated. "How?"

"Janet shot her in the head - who would have thought a head shot could kill her?" He winked again.

"Janet shot her?"

"Didn't I just say that?" Simon grinned widely.

"And Janet works for who exactly?"

"Herself. She helped us on occasion." He opened the doors.

 _Past tense. Hmmm._  "Janet was contracted to destroy the Sections'?"

"When the timing was right," he explained. "Janet loved a challenge."

 _Past tense again._  "And now she's..." Quinn trailed off.

Simon's shoulders tensed. "Debriefing." He didn't meet her eyes.

 _What kind, I wonder?_  Janet interested her, she wanted to find out all she could. "How long have you known Janet?" She tried to keep the eagerness from her voice.

He laughed. "Never have - no one really  _knew_  Janet." He sobered. "I've met her a few times." He motioned her inside the room.

She looked around the room. It was a large boardroom, like one you'd find in corporate offices. Simon didn't follow her in; he stood holding the doors.

"What was she like?"

"You're to wait in here," he said, ignoring her question.

"Who am I waiting for?" she changed the subject, deciding it was pointless to push.

"The Boss."

"The Boss?" Quinn repeated.

"Well, one of them," Simon amended.

"And they are..." she trailed off again.

He smiled. "You'll find out soon enough." He began to pull the doors closed; when they were half-way, he paused. "She was sparkling," he said so quietly she barely heard him.

 _Janet._  "Was?"

"She is..." he trailed off.

She waited.

"I do not know what she is, or even if she is."

She didn't understand his meaning.

"Janet had to win," Simon added and closed the doors.

She stared at the closed doors, confused.  _Is Janet dead? Alive? Something in-between? Is she free? Has she turned? What?_

"Good morning, Kate."

Quinn hadn't heard anyone enter.

_I know that voice._

A shiver traveled up her spine; she turned to face him.

_It can't be._

The air rushed from her lungs. She blinked hard. "Jesus Christ." Quinn barely recognized her own voice.

"Not quite." His eyes twinkled.

************

EPILOGUE.

_My body is a testament to their skills; each breath requires concentration, each beat of my heart is lent a conscious thought. My body is collapsing upon itself, but were I to choose to speak I would be understood._

_I do not choose to speak and they have not the means to make me; my indifference now too complete to be assailable. With a scalpel, they trace a line down the back of my bruised hand. A burning sensation follows the path of the blade; a tingling sharpness travels the length of my arm._

_They ask me questions as they cut - always the same questions, the same order. They ask them again as they pierce my flesh with hot needles and again while the current flows through my body._

_Flexing my shattered fingers, I can feel the bones grinding against each other; it does not seem possible that I should be able to do this. How can my fingers still respond? It is intriguing; I twist my wrist and every injury in my arm flares at the same time. I do not cry out, for, though I experience the resulting sensations, I feel nothing._

_Ex nihilo nihil fit. (Nothing comes of nothing.)_

_They look at me now - not with the eager, hungry looks of the beginning - but with troubled, curious expressions, that reflect their growing unease. They are becoming impatient; they are no longer enjoying their work._

_Ce n'est pas une victoire. (It is not a victory.)_

_Such things are no longer possible. I have defeated them, yes, but I have not won - there is no glory._

_They have become desperate; they drag in Karl, and torture him. They hope, perhaps, that I will be moved by another's pain, while still so indifferent to my own. He begs; he screams; he cries._

_He tells me he loves me - I believe him._

_I do not speak._

_They kill him, their faithful servant of five years. He was my watcher - their contact, their overseer. He blended well; Daniel never knew - Daniel didn't know a lot of things. Karl was diligent in the execution of his duties; he performed them well. He made one mistake which led to others; he fell in love with a person who was unable to love him in return._

_I think he deserved better than he got; but I do not mourn his death. I do not care._

_To them I am an impossibility. They met me before and I appeared no different than any other. I was charming, I was witty, I was inconsequential - deliberately so. I had envisioned the meeting, I had looked forward to it; I had planned everything. I followed the plan, I saw no reason not to._

_It was such a stunning performance, I almost convinced myself._

_They have become disheartened, now simply going through the motions - they have given up. Their failure should bother me, but it does not. I should fear my lack of reaction, but I do not. It has happened, as I always feared it would. I am living in hell, and I do not think it all that bad._

_Etiam ovlivisci quid sis, interdum expedits. (It is sometimes expedient to forget who you are.)_

_I lost myself to the void. It is not likely I will find a way back. The torturer's cannot draw me out, nor can my soft-spoken questioner, who bares a startling resemblance to Daniel - no coincidence, nothing ever is._

"Quid afis, dulcissime rerum?" _(How are you, sweetest of creatures?)_

_Quid deceat, quid non, obliti. (Lost to all self-respect, all sense of shame.)_

_What am I now? A shell in which life once existed - all too briefly. Is there a way back? I do not know and no longer think it matters. Nothing matters now - not even that I succeeded._

"That's enough. You can go,"  _she says, entering the room with a man trailing behind her._

_The man comes to me, takes his time examining my wounds; he tells her he can do little here, I should go to Medical._

_She studies me with that neutral expression of hers and tells him to do what he can; she needs to speak with me first._

_He does not argue; he mops up blood, applies salves and bandages, then injects something into my I.V. When he is finished, he leaves us alone._

_She has aged. Tiny lines make etchings at the corners of her mouth and, like cracks in fine china, they spread from her eyes. There are a few strands of gray in her dark locks - her hair is shorter than I remember. I do not think she has slept; there are dark circles around her eyes, and I can see them beneath the carefully applied make-up. She is still beautiful - I think she always will be._

_It is four years since I saw her last, twelve years since our first meeting. I have never known her. She has always distanced herself, always been an enigma, impossible to read._

_No longer._

_And that should bother me too._

"You caused some trouble,"  _she states._

_She is both amused and annoyed; amused by me, annoyed with herself. She believes she should have more accurately predicted my behavior, anticipated my rebellion._

"Why did you do it?"  _she asks, her voice soft._

_She is trying to draw me out, to engage me; she is wasting her time, I have no reason to answer her questions. I have no desire - nothing._

"Why let Gail steal the money? You gained nothing,"  _she continues._

_Why let Gail have it? Why not? I could argue, but there is no point. I have no use for it now and it's not the money that concerns her, it is that I disregarded orders. Demonstrated that I am no longer their creature, no longer controllable - no longer anything._

"You are smarter than this."

_She sounds a touch disappointed; she isn't, but she should be. A dismal performance, I can see the calculation in her eyes._

"Why go through this?"  _she asks, looking slightly saddened when I do not respond._

_In the past, I would have been amused._

_Rien. Tout la monde est rien. (Nothing. All the world is nothing.)_

_She observes me in silence, allows the silence to dominate._

"Where is Michael?"

_She asks it suddenly, attempting to catch me off guard._

_Sint ut sunt, aut non sint. (Let them be as they are or not at all.) I could say, but do not. I do not see the point; she knows as well as I that there is no way to bring him back._

_She stares at me, searching my eyes for answers. I stare back and at length I see it. A dawning comprehension of the truth of things. She blinks._

"This is pointless,"  _she says, more to herself than me._

_She is uneasy; she has made an error and knows that now. She has yet to comprehend the nature of it, but she suspects. There is something like fear within her eyes. It is possible we shared the same nightmare._

_Du bleibt doch immer, was du bist. (You will always remain what you are.) I almost tell her. For her it will remain a nightmare; she cannot follow me._

"You don't fear death, do you Janet?"  _she questions, watching me intently for a reaction - any reaction._

_I consider._

_I have a choice. I can pretend; I can fool her. She is willing - I am capable. If I do this, she will send me to Medical - I will live._

_Alternatively, I can allow her entrance; I can let her see. She does not want to - I can force her. If I do this, she will kill me - I will die._

"I never did mind about the little things."

The bullet killed only a ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Acephaly: the state of possessing no head.
> 
> This was beta'd by JayBee in the LFN fandom who is a marvelous writer.


End file.
